


Fate's Children

by theatrewraith



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jötunn Loki, Loki Needs a Hug, Magic-Users, Manipulative Loki, Minor Character Death, Quests, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 108,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8980588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatrewraith/pseuds/theatrewraith
Summary: The Norns long ago chose protectors bound to keep order in the Nine Realms. Roska is the latest guardian of Asgard. When Odin asks her to bring Loki back from Midgard at any cost, she is set on a path of even greater importance. To assure Asgard’s stable future, she must set Loki on its throne.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, readers! I have adopted some terms from Norse mythology for this story, as well as invented a few of my own. I created a glossary that you can find at the end of this fic. Please feel free to request further clarification or just ask questions if you're curious. Happy reading, and may the Norns watch you.

_There was no time before Yggdrasill, and there would be none after. Yggdrasill always was the Great Ash Tree which spread across the Nine Realms. At its roots lay three of those realms: Niflheim, Jotunheim, and Asgard. It was there, beneath those roots and mystic wells springing up to feed the Tree, that the Norns lived. These sisters three wove the fate of the realms in their hands and kept all in balance. As time passed, beings rose who threatened the delicate nature of fate with their thirst for chaos. Thus, the sisters used their magic to appoint the Children of Norn. A being from each realm was chosen, bound by duty to Yggdrasill to keep the realms in balance no matter the cost. The Children were granted strength and knowledge, gifts of dark matter and the Sight. Yet, their sacrifice was high, for their paths were solitary and harsh. Upon the death of a Child, another would simply take the vacant place. So the Children fought and died one after the other until those who served chaos declined, and the Children themselves were little more than legend._

* * *

Roska was crouched on a spire of Hlidskialf, the seat of Odin. She was not concerned that anyone would look up and see her, a black spot tarnishing the gold. Magic rendered her invisible to all gazes. In fact, she went unseen at all times unless she should consciously choose otherwise, one of the traits of the Children. Even Heimdall could not track her movements. She looked out over Asgard, seeing all at once, from the guard far below her positioned straight against a pillar, to the great pattern of life spread out from the palace to the Rainbow Bridge. All was as it should be, and yet.

Roska could sense it in the same way creatures sense an impending storm. She had consulted the runes, reached with her Sight, and even prayed to Mimir, the fount of all knowledge. For her efforts, the only answer she received was that which she already knew. Something was coming.

Knowing that this would likely be no more than another vain attempt, she closed her eyes. In her mind, she pictured golden threads spinning round and round on a wheel. Gradually the sounds and cool sting of the wind around her faded, and she dipped into a trance. Using the image of the thread as a guide, she expanded her mind outwards, pulling upon the thread from the wheel. The thread anchored her and kept her from slipping too far away from herself. Many Seers had tried to extend their gaze beyond their reach and been lost.

Forward Roska pushed, trying to peer into That Which Is To Be. She caught a glimpse of a large flying craft, not of Asgard, no – not quite so advanced, dipping towards the ground and a tower with the word ‘STARK’ emblazoned upon it. From the top of the tower, a white light beamed up towards the sky. Then… nothing. There was only a shadowy mist. Roska was not the most accomplished Seer, but she had never encountered a hindrance such as this one. There was something through that mist, and it was tied to the fate of Asgard; that much at least she could feel. She followed the thread backwards.

Her eyes fluttered open, drawn down by the sensation of heat against her neck. From amongst her amulets, she selected the one radiating heat, pinching the etched crystal between her fingers. Having been acknowledged, the crystal cooled. Odin was summoning her. He alone knew of her presence in this realm.

The King and Draugr, Child of Asgard, had worked together many times throughout the millennia. They had fought as well. It was in the nature of rulers to believe that the best interests of Asgard were served through them. They often forgot that the Draugr did not serve them, but the Norns. If the fall of Asgard was fated, Roska would have watched it burn, but she secretly hoped never to see that day. She had protected this realm for over a thousand years. This was her home.

Roska got up from her crouch, stretching the muscles that had long remained still. She was summoned rarely and never on good tidings. She thought of the mist and wondered whether this meeting was connected. It seemed likely.

To get inside the palace, Roska leapt down from spire to spire. Her armor gleamed liquid black, giving the metal a deceptively heavy appearance. She favored agility over brute force, and so between minimal armor plates she wore dyed, supple fabric that maximized movement. This allowed her to jump gracefully and silently until she landed on the railing of a balcony.          

There was many a place on Asgard where she could have met Odin in secret. However, the disappearance of a king would not go unnoticed. The best place for such a meeting, then, was one hidden in plain sight where a disturbance was unlikely. The solution was a simple one. They convened in the king’s chambers.

She stepped down onto the balcony and moved into the solar. Odin waited beside an ornately carved table, his eyes fixed on her but unseeing. She took a moment to observe him. His calm bearing was strained and deep shadows rested under his eyes. He had already fallen once into the Odin-sleep. His time as king was waning, but this was another matter. He was angry. It would be unwise to test his patience.

With a tingling sensation like a rush of blood, Roska made herself visible. She inclined her head respectfully but did not kneel.

“Draugr,” Odin greeted.

“There is trouble,” she noted, moving to the point of this meeting.

He nodded. “Midgard has been threatened.”

Roska frowned. Midgard was hardly her concern. Moreover, Odin took a low view of Midgardians. She could not blame him. They were a newborn race, blundering about on unsteady legs. Still, from the few times she had visited the planet, she had found them amusingly stubborn.

If she had been summoned here, then it was the threat to Midgard which Odin must find disquieting. Roska thought of the primitive aircraft she had seen falling through the sky and the brilliant white light.

“By whom?” she asked.  

The wrinkles in Odin’s face seemed to deepen. “Loki.”

Roska’s eyes widened in a rare display of astonishment that she was quick to cover. She had attempted since his fall to keep an eye on the Jotun Prince. Runes consulted, her Sight stretched. She had caught glimpses of heat, shining blue, a long weapon she recognized as belonging to the Chitauri, and Loki’s face dappled in sweat. She had also received an answer as to the reason the energy and magic around her warped when she turned her sights on Loki. He had fallen under a being of chaos whose powers were so great that they extended like a many-tendriled snare across the universe.

His name was Thanos, and because of him, Roska had given Loki up for lost. If Loki was on Midgard, it was Thanos’ doing. Her lips curled in distaste. She would warn the Eir, Child of Midgard, as a precaution.

“This will be dealt with,” she assured Odin.

“Yes, it will. I mean to send my son to retrieve him.”

“Thor?” Roska was surprised for the second time, and she did not like it. “That is ill-advised.”

“It is necessary. I do not have the strength to go myself,” Odin explained. “And Thor must learn what it means to be king. That one must face a threat and do what is needed for the good of the realms, even if that threat is someone he loves.”

Roska shook her head. “Loki has always been jealous of Thor. The sight of his brother will only anger him.”

“Yes, and in anger, he may act in folly. That will be of benefit to Thor.”

“At the detriment of Midgard.”

Odin was unmoved. “Perhaps.”

Roska dared to give the king a sharp look, but his mind was clearly set. She would not argue with him. There was a chance that this plan would work. Her fingers flexed by her sides as she thought the conundrum over.

“With the Bifrost broken, you will need dark matter to transport Thor to Midgard,” she noted finally. “I will provide it if that is what you ask.”

“It is.”

There was more. Roska could see it in the way Odin stood. If he was done with her, he would have her dismissed.

“And?” she prompted.

“And I would ask you to accompany him.”

“To protect him? I am no royal guard. If it is the will of the Norns that Thor die by Loki’s hand, then die he shall,” she reminded Odin.

Odin scowled as though she had slighted him, but replied, “No. I only ask that if Thor should fail, you will not.”    

Then she understood. “You fear that Thor will not kill his brother, even if there is no other hope for Midgard.”

“If Loki gains control of that realm, he will turn his gaze on Asgard,” Odin said in answer. He lifted his head. “Will you go?”

She hesitated, pensively grinding one heel into the carpet. “I will ask.”

“How long?”

“One cannot know. Time means little to the Norns.”

“But it does to us,” snapped Odin, impatience loudening his words.

While his temper could quell many a man, Roska only sighed. It was true that this matter required the swiftest answer. Runes offered such a solution.

She approached the table, removing a pouch from the belt at her hip. Inside were dark blue stones from the well beneath Asgard, carved with runes that carried an ancient magic. She poured the stones carefully on the table and set the pouch aside. With Odin watching in attentive silence, she scooped up the rune stones in her hands. There were thirty-nine stones in all, each no larger than a fingernail.

After a deep breath, she chanted quietly in the same language as the runes. The sounds crackled like lightning, echoing as she drew energies towards her, both dark and light. The stones grew as cold as ice but she did not drop them. She asked for guidance from the Norns and clarity from Mimir. She wound the energy around the stones until her hands went numb. Only then did she cast the rune stones downward.

They scattered over the table, the runes glowing faintly until the stones had settled. Roska released all grasp on the gathered energies and peered down at the rune stones intently. Odin was looking over her shoulder, though he was not able to read them as she could.

What Roska saw in the stones made her still even as emotions clamored inside her, threatening escape. She almost swept the stones up to recast them in search of some mistake, but she knew there was nothing wrong with her casting. Her fingers clutched at the edge of the table for support. She had asked for guidance. This was the reply. She stared, feeling overcome.    

Odin gave her a few moments, noticing the shift in her mood, before uttering, “Well? Have you your answer?”

Roska surveyed the stones once more and straightened up. She let out an uneven breath.

“Yes. I will go.”


	2. Ein

This plan had been a foolish one.

Roska stood on the balcony of Stark Tower, the structure from her visions, and looked down upon the city of New York. Buildings had been decimated. Smoke curled up from fires raging behind windows and in the streets. Corpses, both Midgardian and Chitauri, were apparent even from this distance. Movement below revealed the location of the Avengers, proclaimed protectors of Midgard. They would be victorious in this battle.

How could Loki have believed that the Midgardians would not fight so ardently for their realm? They were young, yes, but not passive. It would take more than a simple-minded army to best them. Roska sighed, clenching her hands irritably and reminding herself that this was Thanos’ plan, not Loki’s. She had perceived Thanos’ influence on the prince, the aura of chaos magic making her feel mildly ill. That influence was gone now, removed through a series of blows from Thor combined with Loki’s own willpower. He had seen the ineptitude of the assault then, but as he had stated, it was too late. The venture was doomed to fail of its own accord.

She wondered if Thanos had known this plan was a poor one. But of course he had known. If he had truly wanted Midgard, he would have assembled a more capable force. This was a game for Thanos’ amusement and to sow a bit of chaos amongst the realms. The Eir was below aiding the Avengers, though they saw him not. Roska could only sense him faintly. This would be over soon enough.

At the thought, Roska looked over her shoulder at Loki. He was still lying on the ground after a thorough beating from the green giant. He had deserved to have the sense knocked into him, in that much she and the giant were in agreement. His fingers searched for purchase on the floor and he attempted, unsuccessfully, to roll onto his side.

Roska grimaced and turned away. Her eyes searched for stars in the opening created by the Space Stone. Although the chaos magic in the stone was making her head ache, the stars were a comfort. She took in a breath and held it.

She would have to do what she believed to be right. She had always had a path to follow, and she had always been certain of it. The Norns showed her the way, and she obeyed. Such was the purpose of the Children of Norn.

But so much could go wrong. Though she had spent all of her little time on Midgard considering the many paths, she remained unsure. She almost reached out to the Eir for advice, but that would have been wrong. This decision was not to be influenced. She let the breath out through her nose.

The amulet that connected her with Odin felt heavy around her neck. She pulled it off, holding the crystal before her eyes. Such a plain crystal, but to her its significance was more than a rock.

 Her grip tightened as the floor beneath her shifted. She felt as if a part of her had been cut away, the severance leaving her gasping. Her legs shook and nearly crumpled. All the blood drained from her face.

The time of her Choosing had come.

She wished to protest that she was neither ready nor worthy of this task, that she needed more time, but no one would hear her pleas. For the first time in over a thousand years, Roska was well and truly alone.

The crystal glinted in the bright light, catching her eye once more. With it came the simpler path. She could lay it back around her neck, and no one would be the wiser. Surely then her bond with the Norns would return, and she could put all of this behind her.

She stared at the crystal, swallowed, and used magic to pressurize the air around it. The crystal shattered into tiny fragments, falling into the carnage below. She tossed the rest of the amulet and turned sharply away. She had made her choice, and now she must see it through.

Her eyes landed on Loki. No matter how difficult that choice may be.

Roska leapt from the balcony through one of the shattered windows. Loki appeared to be concentrating on the ceiling, though she believed that he was truly gathering his strength. She considered, as she often had over the past few days, whether her best option would be to use magic to send him into unconsciousness and take him to a location where they were less likely to be set upon. There she would have ample time to explain herself. However, she wanted his trust, which would ultimately require a different manner of tact. Besides, he was prideful and would not appreciate her carrying him like a swooning maiden.

Roska crouched at Loki’s side. She doubted whether he had the strength to use strong combat magic, but she sent a tendril of Light Energy into one of her many amulets, reinforcing her shield. Once she was sure that her shield would hold should he surprise her, Roska made herself visible.

While she would have not thought it possible that he could get any deeper into the floor, Loki jerked back in a crunch of stone. His arm struck out, but there was little force behind it. Roska caught his wrist causing him to clench his teeth as his magic guttered out.

“I have not come to hurt you,” assured Roska before he could try anything further. She loosened her grip. “I am here to aid you.”

Loki managed a short chuckle. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

“Not with Midgard.”

“What then?”

“I would set you on the throne of Asgard.”

Loki peered at her more carefully. “Who are you?”

Roska looked to the windows. They did not have much time. She was certain of that. “An ally.”

“No.” He withdrew his arm, and she offered no resistance. “Who are you?”

She knew he would not believe her yet, but she answered nonetheless. “Draugr.”

This time he let out a full laugh even though it must have pained him. “A tale for children and religious fools.”

“All tales must begin somewhere.”

“And you would have me believe in the other Children of Norn as well?”

“I would not have you believe anything. Their existence simply is.”

“Of course.”

His indulgent smile irked her, but she would not turn from her path for something so petty as irritation.

“There will be time for proof later. We must go.” She nodded out to the city. “Unless you would have your brother return you to Asgard like a whipped dog.”

Loki’s smile thinned. “Perhaps I wish to return. Perhaps I’ll make my own way.”

“Odin wants your head. Unless your mother can persuade him, he’s like to have it, too,” she informed him. She shifted her feet, anxious to be gone.

“He would not swing the axe, the sentimental–”

“He asked me to kill you should I deem it necessary.”

“And telling me that is supposed to inspire me to accompany you, is it?” Loki asked in a deceptively soft voice.

Roska shrugged. “I hoped you would take confidence in the fact that your head is still attached to your neck. Had I wanted you dead, then dead you would be.”

They stared at each other in tense silence broken only by the sounds of turmoil outside. Roska thought that she could have handled this conversation with more grace, but she could not take back her words. She would make him see once they were clear of this place, if he would come with her. These seconds felt like a waste, but she did not wish to push him too harshly.

“He asked you to kill me?” Loki’s voice was slow, the tone skeptical.

She marveled that this was difficult for him to accept. Had his tarnished image of Odin been a front? “Yes.”

“He _asked_?”

“Yes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Odin does not ask. He commands.”

“He does not command me,” Roska informed him.

With a grunt, Loki set his hands against the stone and shifted upwards. “Very well, I’ll come.” He pushed against the floor, managing to twist onto his side. He rolled a shoulder, wincing. “I trust you have a plan.”

“I do.”

At least, Roska had part of a plan. Only a matter of days had passed since discovering that it was the time of her Choosing, and she had spent most of that time following Loki around and considering the changes that had developed in him since his fall from the Rainbow Bridge. Some seemed befitting of a king, such as the ease with which he delegated people under his command. However, his willingness to go along with such an inept attempt at conquering Midgard raised concerns. She had some hope that the influence of chaos magic had dulled his wits, but she was not certain. Regardless, there would be time while they completed the first step of her plan to decide if she had made the correct choice in beginning this coup.

Roska walked towards the shattered windows. “But first we have another matter to attend to. We must shield you from prying eyes. It would not do to have Heimdall telling Odin of our location.”

When she looked behind her, the room appeared empty and Loki’s voice seemed to float from out of the air itself, “No need to worry on that account.”

“But can you hold that casting for however long is needed, even as you sleep?” Roska asked.

In a flash of golden light, Loki appeared, on his feet and grinning like she had made a jest. “No one can hold magic in their sleep.”

“Which is why we shall have to make invisibility your natural state. Just as you appear to be one of the Aesir instead of a Frost Giant.” Loki’s grin took on a hard edge, but Roska turned her back. “We should make haste. Can you walk?”

“Well enough.”

Taking him at his word, Roska stepped out onto the long balcony, surveying the Chitauri swarming down like a prodded hive. She picked out a craft plummeting close to the tower and made a quick calculation. The craft careened past with a loud hum. Roska leapt off the balcony, falling for a moment before landing on the craft, which teetered precariously. The Chitauri warrior let out a screech as he righted their position. His head had not fully turned when Roska shoved him, smashing his chest against the navigation board. The craft dipped downward. She put her arms around the corpse and steadied the craft.

A draft of wind gusted around Roska and she shifted her weight, adjusting to the craft as it continued to propel her forward. She glanced behind her in time to see what appeared to be a Chitauri yank one of its kin from a craft and leap on in its place. Trusting that Loki would follow her, Roska darted between buildings and flying Chitauri. Twice she nearly ran into another craft as her eyes searched the ground. She needed to be at such a distance as to not be interrupted by the Avengers, but still close enough to draw on the power of the dead.

Roska chose a street on which Midgardians in matching blue uniforms were battling Chitauri and shepherding the wounded or fear-stricken into surrounding buildings and vehicles. She concealed her craft so it would not be a target and dove.

The landing was less than smooth. Her craft skated against the ground, knocking into several Chitauri and Midgardians and – after Roska jumped off – smashing into one of their vehicles. The Midgardians fired at the unseen force, but what ammunition struck her armor glanced off. Loki landed with more grace, though his gait as he stepped off the craft was unsteady. Roska wove magic around them, the air lighting momentarily with an almost imperceptible glow. All gazes and movement would be diverted away from them like a stream parting around a boulder.

Loki shed the illusion of being a Chitauri warrior. “I trust there is a reason we’ve stopped here?”

“As I said, we need to render invisibility your natural state.” Roska looked around her, bile already rising in her throat at the thought of the magic she must invoke. “I will not be in a good way once it is done. There is a place nearby. There will be some form of plants in the windows. We can rest there safely for a time.” She had consulted the runes for such a space. As relieved as she had been to find a stronghold, nerves now threatened to engulf her. “Are you ready?”

Loki nodded once, and Roska reflexively returned the nod. She pulled a small dagger from her belt.

“Hold out your hand.”

At this Loki’s gaze seemed to intensify. “Blood magic?”

Blood magic was a form of chaos magic forbidden on Asgard, and in most of the Nine Realms. With good reason. For blood magic to hold its form, a sacrifice of at least one life was required. Even with a sacrifice, the magic was unstable and more likely to turn on the caster than work properly. Roska happened to know that Loki had dabbled in blood magic, but nearly killed himself. This blunder was followed by a harsh reprimand from his mother that appeared to hurt him more than he shown to Frigga at the time. Roska had never sensed the taint of it on him again, except the faintest hint from the permanence of the illusion of being an Aesir.

Using blood magic was not expressly forbidden to the Children of Norn, but it was not to be used unless there were no other options available to them. For one, blood magic drew beings of chaos like thirsty animals to water. For another, it made the Children deeply ill to draw on such power. A few had even lost their minds in an attempt to do so. Still, they had deep knowledge of chaos magic, for to truly understand their enemy, they had to understand the power the enemy would wield.

Roska had thought on her predicament in what fleeting time she had been given, and reluctantly decided in favor of using blood magic. Many were dying regardless of whether she harnessed that power or not, and Thanos’ gaze was already turned this way. Furthermore, the Space Stone radiated chaos magic that would be sensed by any similar beings. She had wondered whether Loki would balk at its use, but he held out his hand.

Quickly, Roska drew her dagger across his palm. Blood welled up, gleaming bright red against his pale skin. She cut her own palm, and tucked the dagger away.

“Now, hide yourself,” Roska instructed, and Loki disappeared.

Taking a breath, Roska remembered back to when she had been little more than a girl, staring down a tiny, squalling Loki. In the wake of the final battle, she, Odin, and the Frer clustered in the snow as they made the illusion Odin had created for the infant permanent. It would not be so different now. There was meaning in events that reflected one another. It must be fate. It must mean she was making the right choice.

Blood lifted from her palm, beading in the air. It lifted from Loki’s as well, though she could not see his form. Roska concentrated on the blood, allowing her breathing to slow and her consciousness to expand. Blood rose from the dead and dying. It rose from those still living who were so close as to be caught up in the web of magic being woven around them. Her head began to ache; her skin turned clammy. Screams of Midgardians and Chitauri rose. They sound eerily similar, and so like those of the Jotuns who had died that day. The ones who had paid the price for attempting to unleash chaos during their invasion of Midgard as they made their last stand in Jotunheim before Laufey had surrendered.

A rift opened beside them, and the Eir appeared. He was an older Midgardian, hair gone almost white and sprouting in thin, wavy tufts from sun-weathered skin, but his build had remained powerful. His gaze locked on her. Children could not hide from one another. The surge of chaos magic would have called him to her nonetheless.

The Eir leveled his staff at her. “What are you doing?” he shouted over the cries of pain.

“What needs to be done and nothing more,” Roska replied through clenched teeth, afraid to divert too much of her attention. “My Choosing.”

The Eir’s forehead wrinkled. His eyes lost their focus as he used the Sight. He merely dipped into That Which Is To Be. It would be cloudy for him, as it was for her. He shook his head.

“I cannot help you.”

“I know,” Roska replied.

“But I will be watching.”

Roska only nodded. She expected nothing less. Droplets of blood were swirling around them like mist. She could feel warm rivulets dripping from her ears and corners of her mouth, and drifting up into the air. She pulled dark matter and energy through the droplets as though she were threading beads, and the mist thickened. She shook, sweat rolling down her back. In the corner of her eye, she could see the Eir also sweating at the close proximity to chaos magic.

Suddenly, Roska felt a spike in power that made her gasp. The Chitauri all around her dropped as their lives were cut short. She nearly lost her hold on the casting, but managed to pull on the web of magic, tightening it like a net around Loki. The magic seemed to pulse, threatening to unravel in an explosive force that would consume them all. Roska forced it to meld with the magic Loki held around him. Midgardians died as well then, the power of their life force combining with that of the dead Chitauri. The only scream now was her own, pain and effort tearing the cry from her throat.

And there, she felt release as the casting took hold. Roska let go. She had done it. Swaying, she took a step forward. Her eyesight tunneled, black forming at the corners.

“We should…” she gurgled, blood dripping down her chin. Black consumed her vision, and she lost consciousness.

* * *

Loki watched as the woman who called herself the Draugr began to pitch forward before disappearing. He assumed that she had once used the same blood magic on herself as she had used on him, making herself invisible unless calling on magic to reveal her form. As the reddish haze of blood had vanished from the air, he felt the hold he had on making himself unseen vanish as though it had never been. It was impressive casting, one he would not have tried on his own.

He took a step forward and stuck out his foot. It met with a blockage, undoubtedly the woman. He crouched down, debating if he should take her in search of the safe place she had mentioned or head off on his own. Now that the woman had gifted him with true invisibility, he could run right under the noses of the Avengers and lick his wounds in some other spot while thinking on a new plan to become king. Yet, this woman could prove to be a useful ally, if she had spoken the truth about her purpose. Not that he believed her to be the Draugr, but he was curious enough to hear out whatever plan she might have.

An older man appeared before the woman, looking quite unwell. His must be the voice Loki had heard before. His garb was that of Midgard, but the woman had not seemed surprised by his presence. And he was the only one on the street left alive. He, too, crouched down. Loki readied a burst of combat magic in his hand, but the man just stared downwards.

Finally, his arms moved in a way that might seem strange had Loki not been certain of the woman lying on the ground. The man hefted her up over one shoulder. He leaned on a wooden staff to get to his feet. He made a gesture in the air, and opened a rift surrounded by sparks. On the other side was a building. It looked to Loki like a hovel of some kind, but in the windows were rows upon rows of plants. Plants like the woman had mentioned.

“I think it is best you come along.”

Loki gazed sharply at the man, but while the man was looking in the right direction, he was looking well above Loki’s head. Loki got up from his crouch, taking an experimental step to the right. The man’s eyes did not follow. So the man could see the woman, but not him. An interesting development. He supposed no harm could come from following. After all, if the situation took a turn for the worse, he could simply slip away.

The man walked towards the rift without waiting, but left it open for enough time that Loki was able to step though.

The hovel sat on the edge of a mountainside. A deep valley spread out below, though a city had sprouted in its midst, haze rising from the buildings. Loki barely spared it a glance, instead eyeing the hovel. It looked as if the man had built it himself. His lip curled in derision. From nearly ruling Midgard to limping into some derelict’s home. He hoped the woman had a plan that did not involve them having to stay in squalor such as this for long.

Loki entered the hovel and shut the door behind him. The interior seemed cleaner than he had expected, although that could be due in part to greenery spilling out of pots and urns and covering parts of the walls and large swathes of the floor. He picked his way around the beginnings of a grove of thick, fruit-bearing trees and towering plants with lethal looking spines.

The man cleared space on a wooden table, rolling a shoulder, and carefully placing the woman down. Some of the plants bent at the pressure, forming the semblances of an outline. The woman was small for one of the Aesir. He wondered if she had some dwarven blood in her, though she was too willowy for it to be more than a distant relation.

“You can sit if you want,” the man offered, turning away as he lifted vines to pull bottles and jars down from a cabinet. This man was clearly a fool to let some unseen person into his home and then turn his back. Unless he had some form of trap ready to spring at the first sign of danger. Or perhaps he thought the woman would protect him should she wake.

Deciding not to test the man just yet, Loki looked about him, considering whether the man meant him to sit on one of the plants. But he spotted a chair and sank onto it, relieved to be off his feet. He prodded his ribs, grimacing. That thrice-cursed monster had bruised him in several places, no doubt of it.

“So who is it that the Draugr thought needed to be hidden?” the man asked.

Loki cocked his head, sweeping the man from head to toe. So he did indeed know the woman. Was he a religious zealot? A simple-minded man who had fallen for her story? Or perhaps an ally? Loki shifted in his chair. To reveal himself to the man was a risk, but a calculated one. He should gather as much information as he could to better make a decision on whether to follow the woman’s as of yet unknown plan.

Loki reached for the magic to reveal himself, uncertain if it would work the same as before, but golden light flared around him. He felt the faint change in the air, the subtle physical drain that came from holding an illusion. However, he had a great deal of practice maintaining a casting, so this new state of visibility would only require a short time before it became as natural to him a breathing.

The man frowned deeply at the sight of him, an expression which Loki met with a grin while still preparing himself for an attack.

“It seems you know of me,” Loki noted. “I can’t say the same of you.”

Setting a pestle and mortar on the table, the man created a mixture of leaves plucked from the greenery around him and liquids he had retrieved from their shelves. Some of the jars appeared old, by Midgardian standards at least, while the bottles seemed cleaner, newer. From the way the man avoided meeting his eyes as he viciously pounded the mixture together, Loki assumed the man was imagining his head in place of the pinkish-green soup.

“I’m the Eir,” the man stated at last.

Lounging back further in his chair, Loki replied, “Of course you are.” He was an ally of the woman’s then. Or at least working under the same delusion that they were the Children of Norn. “I don’t suppose you could take me to the Norns? Or deliver a letter? I would like to speak with them about some pressing matters.” Though he would like even more to wring their necks for the pains they had put him through.

The man shook his head. “Even if that were possible, it’s forbidden for me to influence the outcome of the Draugr’s Choosing. I might have already overstepped.”

Loki wracked his mind, but he could not remember the word “choosing” as it related to the Draugr nor connect it with certainty to her pledge to put him on the throne of Asgard.

“I see,” Loki said nonetheless. Putting together what pieces seemed to fit, he continued, “And I take it you are displeased with her choice.”

The man’s nostrils flared, which Loki took as an affirmation, but the man said, “I am not sure of the choice placed before the Draugr or her decision, so I cannot judge her. That she has used blood magic and…” He glanced up at Loki with clear displeasure. “Well, the Norns are testing us all today.”

From this, Loki gleaned that the man likely did not know of the woman’s pledge. So he was not an ally in the direct sense, if at all. He wondered how many allies the woman had behind her. It would take quite the army to overthrow Odin and put himself on the throne. Either that or a very, very clever plan. Unless the woman was simply mad.

Cupping his palm in the air, the man lifted the mortar and poured the mixture into where the woman’s mouth must be. He picked up a rag and made a wiping motion. The rag came away with stains of pinkish-green and the deep red of drying blood. He dipped his finger in the bottom of the mortar and drew shapes with the remnants, the dregs on his finger vanishing as they painted onto the woman.

Lastly, he touched an amulet to the same space. The amulet was a delicate circle of metal and in the circle, a pale white glow rippled like breeze-touched water.

If he concentrated upon it, Loki could see a rune he recognized as that of Fate, but staring at it made his head ache, and he was forced to look away.

“There,” the man said, tucking the amulet behind his shirt once more.

A shard gasp split the air, followed shortly by a groan. It seemed the woman was awake. The table rocked with movement.

“Wah-whereare…wha…?” The woman’s voice slurred together as though she had been indulging in too much ale.

The man answered, “You are in my home. I –” He rocked back like he had been shoved.

“Meddling,” the woman groaned. “Not permitted.”

No golden glow announced her reappearance. She was propped up on her side by an elbow. Most of the blood had been wiped away from her face, but evidence of it remained around the corners of her mouth and nose and in the crevices of her ears. The blood looked almost black against her dark skin, as if all the death she had used to work the casting had stained her in some way. Although, Loki thought she had made good use of those bodies. At least the Chitauri had been useful in some small way.

The woman slid off one side of the table and staggered to her feet. The man put out a hand, but she batted it away.

“No meddling.”

His nostril’s flared. “I was deadening the stench of blood magic around you. I don’t need any more beings of chaos drawn to Midgard. There’s nothing to be done about him –” He gestured to Loki. “– without lessening the effect of the magic, but at the very least I could diminish the rest.”

The woman looked abashed, but lifted her chin with a hint of defiance. “My apologies, but it was necessary.”

“I should hope so.” The man started gathering plants and bottles into an open satchel. “Now, I must be heading back to New York. You may stay here in my absence if you wish, but I can offer you no more than that.”

The woman nodded with acceptance. “Norns watch you, Eir.”

“As I’m sure they will you, Draugr. As will we all.”

A rift opened beside the man. On the other side were the smoking and demolished buildings of New York. Loki grew tense looking at the site of his failure. At least he had not made it easy. But regardless, he did not need this realm. He was bored of Midgard. Thor could have it. He would move on to greater things.

Loki smiled when the man gave him a last hard look before stepping through the rift, closing it.

“I think I’m growing on him,” he jested. “So who is this ‘we’ he spoke of? Should I be expecting a formal council with the other Children?”

“No,” the woman said. “They are not permitted to influence my Choosing.”

“Ah yes. That was mentioned to me. You’re speaking of your choice to put me on the throne?”

The woman hesitated. “I think we are using ‘choice’ and ‘Choosing’ differently, but they are related, yes.”

“Enlighten me.”

The woman thought upon it until at last she explained, “Fate, it is like a spinning wheel. There are separate people taking separate paths, each their own separate floss being spun into beautiful thread. The Children of Norn are like the hands guiding the floss; the Norns, the eyes that see the shape the thread will take. But eventually the floss will run out, and then a choice must be made about which to next place on the wheel. That is a Choosing. And it must be borne alone. Such is the burden of the Children of Norn.” She sighed. “Hence my anger with the Eir for bringing us here. But I am at fault as well. I should have formed a more precise question before consulting the runes about where we might go after the casting.”

Loki thought the metaphor of a spinning wheel worked soundly enough, although it sounded like the musings of someone desperate to create more meaning in their life than truly existed. However, if her logic worked to his benefit, far be it from him to question her too closely.

“And your Choosing is about the throne of Asgard?” he clarified.

“Yes.”

“And you chose me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Loki asked. He needed to know what the woman expected from him.

Without hesitation, the woman stated, “Because I believe you will be a greater king than Thor.”

Loki had to contain his surprise at her answer. It was not that he disagreed. He had and always would believe he made a superior heir to the throne. He had been told for all his life that he was born to rule, only to be turned aside for his so-called brother.

There lay the reason to be taken aback. No one had ever told him he could be better than Thor. Not even that he could be Thor’s equal. Not Thanos, who had given him an army to rule Midgard. Not Odin, who had so often talked of how he was made for a throne. Not Frigga, who had supported his talents but never held him up to Thor. Not even any of the lovers he had taken, flattering him in other ways but only in proximity to the throne.

That this woman stated it was so made him instinctively mistrust her motivations, especially since she somehow knew the true nature of his lineage. She must want something from him, something that could only be gifted by placing him on the throne.

And so what if she had her own motivations? What price did he put on taking his birthright? And who was to say he had to pay it in the end? Furthermore, it was not as if he currently had any other plans. No place to be; nothing else to care about. He had thought putting a leash on Midgard would be a step towards raising himself up after such a long fall, but it had been little more than a clumsy attempt to drag himself higher. He saw it now. This could be a much better path.

“You said you had a plan,” Loki noted.

“I have the beginnings of a plan,” the woman admitted. She gave him an uncertain look. “We will need to kill Odin.”

Loki felt his hesitation, and hated himself for it. He hated even more that, for a moment, he had held a glimmer of hope that Odin would give him the throne with pride. Perhaps after they had eliminated Thor.

The woman went on. “His time is waning, and he will only oppose your claim. I know he meant a great deal to you, but it must be done. If you would hear me out…”

“If he needs to be killed, then I’ll do it,” Loki assured her with more resolution than he had.

“Are you certain? He is your father, and I understand –”

“He is _not_ my father.”

The violence of the outburst startled them both. Loki clenched his jaw. He prided himself on being able to hold his emotions in check, especially in front of others. But the pain of being cast out, tossed from the bridge, was still fresh as if it had occurred mere hours ago. All he had wanted was to prove to Odin that he was just as capable as Thor, more even. No, he would not allow himself to care if Odin died. If the old fool put no value on his life, Loki did not see any reason to put value on his.  

“As you say,” the woman acquiesced, eyeing him like a stray dog that might bite. “Even though Odin’s powers are diminished, he will still be difficult to kill. We are going to need the Fang of Fenrir.”

“Another children’s tale?” Loki scoffed.

The Fang of Fenrir played a prominent role in a number of tales he remembered Frigga having read to him as a child. It was a dagger, made from the tooth of the great wolf spirit Fenrir. When a Seer had foretold of the destruction Fenrir would unleash upon the Nine Realms, the Aesir of old had found the pup and raised him, sure that they could teach him to love them. But as he grew and became more powerful, the Aesir became afraid and decided to bind him in chains. Eventually, Fenrir broke free, but he left behind a tooth, stuck in the metal. Forged in the fires of Mudspelheim, cooled in the ice of Jotunheim, and imbued with ancient magicks, the Fang of Fenrir had been used on a number of quests before finally being thrust into Fenrir’s heart to defeat him.

The woman tipped her head. “Another legend, true. But the Fang of Fenrir is as real as I am.”

“And where is the Fang of Fenrir? At the bottom of the Well of Urd I suppose.”

“No. It is hidden on Niflheim.” The woman frowned, her eyebrows pinching. “At least, I am mostly sure that’s where it lies.”

Loki shook his head. “So we retrieve the Fang of Fenrir and kill Odin. What then?”

“I am still working on the next part of the plan.” She crossed her arms defensively. “I have only had a few days to come up with it.”

This was far from a clever plan. At a generous estimate, it was the beginnings of a mad idea against nearly insurmountable odds. Traveling across Niflheim, the most inhospitable of the Nine Realms, with the Draugr to retrieve the Fang of Fenrir in order to kill the All-Father. Loki chuckled. Why not? Nothing else had worked so far. It rather sounded like fun. And if at any time the woman proved to be too difficult or dangerous, he could vanish.

“What’s your name?” he asked the woman. He certainly was not about to refer to her as the Draugr, unless it should prove useful.

Naturally, the woman replied, “Draugr.”

“Did you never have any other name?”

The woman paused. She rubbed the fingers of her right hand together, shifting on her heels until, in barely a whisper, she answered. “Roska.”

“All right, Roska.” Loki got up from his chair. “When do we start?”


	3. Tveir

Roska was pleased that Loki had agreed to go with her, despite her half-formed plan. His disbelief at her being the Draugr did not concern her at present. Few enough believed in the Children of Norn. As long as he worked with her now, she could convince him later.

In order to reach Niflheim, they had to travel to the gap that connected it with Midgard. Had she been in a better condition, Roska would have opened a rift to take them directly to the gap, which had been her original idea when she thought there would be a chance to rest. However, they could not stay in the Eir’s home. Suppose he returned? She refused to let him influence her Choosing. It was against the laws of such things. Instead, she and Loki would simply have to travel in the way of Midgardians while she regained her strength.

While Loki did not seem satisfied with the arrangement, there was nothing to be done. He could only open rifts across short distances, about a room’s length. Conceivably he could create a string of rifts all down the mountain, but to do so would be immensely tiring.

So after refreshing themselves with some water, Roska and Loki left the Eir’s hut. He had built his home on the ledge of a mountain. The soil was populated with dense brush and thin trees with small, spiked leaves, but the vegetation was brittle and easily trod through. The air brushed by them in warm buffets of dry wind. It would not become unpleasant for a while yet. Roska kept an eye on the city below them, attempting to keep on a straight path whenever possible.

Loki ducked beneath a low-hanging branch of a tree and asked, “Once we travel through the gap, where precisely in Niflheim will we be?”

“In the Filrar,” Roska replied.

A slight twitch of Loki’s cheek revealed his displeasure at the notion of traveling into that treacherous forest. Roska imagined any answer she had given would have garnered a similar response. There was no pleasant part of Niflheim.

“Have you been to Niflheim often?” she queried.

There had been two instances that Roska was aware of. Once he had gone with Odin and Thor as the All-Father educated them on the Nine Realms. The second time he had been traveling on his own through a gap. Not many people knew of gaps, and fewer knew where they were located. Wards had been placed on all of the gaps hidden across Asgard by one of her predecessors in order to alert the Draugr whenever someone crossed the threshold into a gap. Roska had arrived to find Loki already halfway through. She had followed him to the other side, where he had stood for a few moments before turning around.

“Does anyone travel to Niflheim often?” Loki countered.

Roska shrugged. “People have varied interests. Some make little sense to me, but one never knows.” The front of her boot caught in a snarled brush, and she yanked it free, sending up a puff of arid soil.

“I presume you have been there.”

“Not for a couple hundred years, and never much past a gap. As Draugr, my duties lie mostly within Asgard.”

“Naturally. I do hope though that you have at least an idea of where we are headed. Unless you believe the Fang of Fenrir rests immediately on the other side of the gap.”

“I brought a book of maps for the Nine Realms. But I have a general understanding of how Niflheim is laid out.” Such knowledge was granted to all of the Children of Norn should the need arise for them to travel to the other realms.

“Then let us hope that will be enough.” Loki remarked, sounding less than assured. He pushed at a branch in his way, bending but not quite breaking the limb. And Roska saw something that she had not yet noticed.

As his vambrace and the sleeves of his tunic shifted ever so slightly, they revealed a strip of skin. White-pink scars marred the flesh there in a thick line. The pattern of scarring looked familiar, though Roska could not quite place it. When Loki noticed her looking, he quickly dropped his arm.

“What happened?” Roska asked.

Loki shook his head. “Nothing of consequence.”

“I doubt that very much. I believe all that has happened to you is of great consequence.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Especially where Thanos is involved.”

That the Mad Titan had shown an interest in the Nine Realms deeply concerned Roska. Sending Loki to Midgard felt like a probing tactic. Midgard was hardly considered amongst the most well defended realms – though it seemed that might have changed – or the most desirable. If Thanos still held some influence over Loki, he would hold sway over Asgard should she be successful in her attempt to grant Loki the throne. Asgard was the strongest root of Yggdrasill, the realm that kept the other eight stable. Should it fall to a being of chaos, dire consequences would follow soon after.

“Tell me of your time with him,” said Roska.

“There is little to tell,” Loki replied, looking as bored as though he had been asked the same a hundred times. However, his fingers curled as if to brush the scar on his wrist.

Roska pursed her lips. “You are avoiding the question.”

“Very astute of you to notice.”

As this was a matter of importance, Roska demanded, “Tell me.”

Loki gave her an assessing look. “I bargained for an army. He granted it to me.” Spoken as though making a deal with Thanos was a small and easy task, like trading coin for a loaf of bread.

“In return for what?”

Loki’s brow pinched. “What?”

“To bargain, you must have had something of value to Thanos. What was it?”

Grinning widely, Loki said, “Perhaps he believed I would be a great king as well.”

Could he not see that the answers he held might affect the fate of Asgard? Roska was beginning to understand why some found Loki quite infuriating to speak to.

“We are not at odds, you and I,” she pointed out. “There is no need to be difficult with me.”

Loki bowed his head. “My sincere apologies. That is not my intention.”

But Roska was not so easily swayed by the false display of contrition. “Your silver tongue will not work on me. I know you too well, I’m afraid.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Or I did know you. I suppose I am hoping the man you have become is not so different.”

“You think you know me?” Loki inquired, his expression bearing utter amusement.

Unperturbed by the laughter in his gaze, Roska said, “If not, then I would like to. So I am certain that I have made the right choice in Asgard’s next king.”

Loki’s spine immediately stiffened. “You have.”

Roska considered him, and then the ground as she picked out her steps on the uneven soil. She itched to cast her rune stones, but they would offer no answers. The only way she could find out who Loki had become was by speaking with him, and by watching his actions as they took this journey together. Her hope was for a king who was clever and powerful. One who understood that Asgard must always come first. One who would make the right decisions to keep Asgard strong, and who could stand strong alone. If Thanos was turning his eyes this way, she needed to be certain Loki was indeed everything she hoped and more.

“Well then?” she pressed.

After a few moments of silence, Loki confided, “Thanos desired the Tesseract. And I was to return the scepter.”

“Oh.”

It was even worse than she had thought. The Space and Mind Stone in the hands of Thanos would surely bring about calamity. And if he should be after the others as well… Roska had the sudden desire to change course to Asgard to be sure that the Gauntlet was still safe behind barred doors.

“What of the time before you made this bargain?” she asked, questions falling fast from her lips. “How did you gain an audience with Thanos? Were there others doing the same? Did he share any plans with you?”

Loki sighed, having once again adopted the semblance of boredom. “It is quite a long story.”

“We have time.”

“I thought the Children of Norn were Seers? Should you not know the answers already?”

Roska nodded. “We are. But Thanos is a being of powerful chaos magic, which clouds our Sight.”

“How convenient for you.”

“Hardly.”

Loki cocked his head. “Well, if there are detriments to your Sight, does being the Draugr at least come with better accommodations than being the Eir?”

“It –” Roska stopped, having a realization. She gazed at Loki accusingly. “You are avoiding my questions again.”

With a helpless turning of his palms, Loki noted, “And again, you are very astute at noticing.”

Twice now he had attempted to steer the conversation in a different direction. Roska wanted to press the issue, but this seemed more than just his being contrary. She thought of the scarring on his wrist and hesitated.

Deducing that Loki had gone through some difficult times after falling from the Rainbow Bridge was not difficult. And he had somehow come under the influence of Thanos, which did not seem very much like the Loki she had known, the one who would no more let someone shackle him to the Mind Stone than allow himself to be trampled by a stampeding bilgesnipe.

From what she had learned observing many people over the years, sometimes finding out answers required trust, which she had clearly not yet gained from Loki. Surely if Asgard were under imminent attack, the Norns would reach out to her, even during the time of her Choosing? She could be patient for a time. Roska nodded to herself.

Out loud, she said, “You will tell me. Once you trust that I am the Draugr.”

“Very well. Once I believe you are the Draugr, I will answer any question you like,” Loki conceded.

A more than fair bargain, and even if he had not given the conditions in earnest, Roska meant to hold him to them.

They had not walked for much longer when they happened upon a well-worn path. This made their journey infinitely easier, for which Roska was grateful. Her head ached and her body felt filled with stones, threatening to pull her to the ground for much needed sleep.

The descent passed mostly in silence, as travelers were not infrequent, hiking up or down with large packs strapped across their shoulders or on vehicles with two primitive wheels that kicked up dirt as they went by. Roska had debated upon stopping one of these Midgardians to discover their location and how they might get to the gap, but it hardly seemed likely that there would be any means of transport until they reached the city.

What should have seemed no time at all – the sun had moved a mere three finger’s widths or so when they reached the base of the mountain – stretched like an eternity. She had halted them just once to rest and drink from the waterskin at her hip, fearing if she stopped for too long she would not be able to move again.

Buildings clustered at the base, vendors for the most part, with those wheeled vehicles and offers of travels up the mountain range. Behind, the streets were lined with sprawling buildings with wide frames, open balconies, and, curiously, roofs made of a kind of red stone.

Sweat had formed on her brow and down the back of her neck, a concern after such little physical labor, but Roska wiped it away for there was no more she could do at the moment. She beckoned Loki behind a small wooden construct in which a young woman leaned out a window calling out to passersby about various expeditions.

When she turned to him, Loki asked, “What now?”

Roska rested a hand against the wall. “I will ask this woman of our whereabouts and how to best make the journey from here. Could you create garb for me like one of the Midgardians we passed on the mountain? Illusions are not my area of expertise.”

Her gifts lay in casting on a broader scale. Manipulations of the physical on such a small scale as changing the appearance of a single person took a different sort of talent. Roska was able to use this magic with minor success, but inevitably missed some detail such as the shape of one’s ears or the style of boots. Attempting such an illusion in her current state could only lead to failure.

For a moment, Loki looked off into nothing with a meditative air. When he looked back at her, golden light flashed briefly in her eyes. Roska glanced down. Her dark skin had become the color of sugar long boiled over a fire. Black hair fell in waves over her shoulders, rather than bound at the top of her head in a twist of many braids. She could feel the weight of a pack pressing against her back, though it was light. Everything seemed in place.

Roska walked to where the woman stood, making herself visible as she rounded the corner. “Good day. I am hoping you can help me.”

“Of course,” the woman replied. “Are you here for our two-day _bici_ trip?”

Having no idea what the woman was speaking of, Roska shook her head. “I was in the mountains with my companion, and we seem to have gotten lost. Could you tell me where we are?”

The woman gave her a sympathetic smile. “You are the second person this week, so do not feel too badly. You are in San Fernando del Valle de Catamarca. Where did you come from?”

“That is unimportant,” Roska dismissed with a hand wave. “Our destination is the Aokigahara. Do you know of it?”

“That does not sound familiar. Is that a town?”

“A forest.”

The woman stared at her in confusion. “Hmmm… Uh, let us see if we can find it.”

She ducked down for a moment and straightened with a small device in her hand. Roska recognized it as what one of Loki’s men had called a “cell.” They appeared to be used in communication, as well as a means to display information. The woman moved her fingers around the screen.

“How do you spell it?”

“I am not certain.” Roska had no knowledge of any of the Midgardian alphabets, and while All-Speak was a highly useful language, it did not translate individual letters or words for which one had no reference.

“What was the name? Ao…?”

“Aokigahara.”

A few more taps of the woman’s fingers, and Roska saw the name appear on the cell. “That is the place.”

The woman looked even more bewildered. “This is in Japan.”

Roska looked over a few images of thin, densely packed trees that were displayed on the cell. She recognized Japan from the maps. It was an island off the eastern coast of the largest landmass on Midgard. “Indeed. I take it Japan is not a neighboring land?” she assumed, as the woman threw her a concerned glance.

“No. Are you feeling quite well?”

“It’s no matter. How would one get to Japan from here?”

“Take a plane from the Coronel Felipe Varela Airport, I suppose.”

One of the Midgardian flying crafts. Roska wondered if they would need to travel on a more cramped plane or one of the larger crafts which had small planes aboard, such as the one where Loki had been held briefly in a prison cell. Both were slow, but the larger craft traveled much slower.

“And how would I reach that?”

“There is an _ómnibus_.” The woman pointed across the street to where a cluster of people stood gathered around a signpost. “It will stop at the airport.”

“Good. Many thanks.”

“Are you sure you are well?” the woman queried as Roska turned away. “Is there someone I can contact for you?”

An arm suddenly wrapped around Roka’s waist. She startled at the contact, unused to being touched. The hair on the back of her neck rose. A man with closely-cropped curls and the same skin tone as her illusion had come up beside her, dressed in a similar fashion. His eyes were a pale blue, and that is how she knew it was Loki. He should not have startled her.

“There you are.” Loki raised a hand to the woman. “My thanks for looking out for my aunt.” He lowered his voice. “She has been out in the sun too long, I believe. This trip has been very overwhelming for her.” Roska frowned at him, wondering why any of this was necessary.

The woman, however, seemed relieved at his words. “Of course. Be sure she drinks plenty of water.”

“I will,” Loki assured her and steered Roska away. “You’re not very tactful, are you?”

Roska slipped out of his grip, uncomfortable at the prolonged contact. “I am not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, we do not need anyone watching our every move. Was that not the point of the casting you worked on me?”

“Yes. So?”

Loki eyed her and shook his head. “If we have to speak to anyone else, I think it best left to me.”

Still unsure what the fuss was about, but seeing no reason to argue, Roska shrugged. “Very well.” Certainly Loki had spoken to more people than she. Perhaps he understood the etiquette of it better.

They ducked onto a side street to shed their illusions and slipped back onto the main street unnoticed, crossing to where people waited for the ómnibus, which turned out to be a large, rectangular craft similar to – what had the Midgardians that had driven Loki around called it? – a car, but with many rows of benches and wide windows. A queue formed as the bus rolled up before them. A few people got off and, in the slight break between the last person stepping down and the first person boarding, Roska and Loki darted on.

Roska watched in fascination as the first person from the queue pushed paper into a hole in the pillar beside the driver. The paper was pulled into the hole with a faint whir, and that person moved on. The next man in the queue questioned the driver about the cost, jangling coins in his hand. Had the paper been of monetary value as well?

But Roska did not have long to contemplate as she was forced to maneuver herself around the people filing onto the bus. Those who knocked into her excused themselves to whomever they perceived to have bumped. She could have worked the magic to make herself intangible, but decided to conserve her energy in case she came to a situation where a casting was unavoidable.

Loki vanished from her view, so she did the same, happy to not use magic for a while.

As they rode along, she peered curiously at the Midgardians, taking in their clothing, deciphering their conversations, and reading off their cells. She saw a younger man watching a moving image of the battle in New York over and over again. It was a popular topic amongst the passengers as they tried to make sense as to what had happened in the city. A word cropped up again and again, one she did not know but decided must be the same because of the talk around it. Extraterrestre. Ausserirdischer. Wài xīng rén. Alien.

Eventually, Roska stopped listening. She propped herself against a wall in between the last and only full row of benches – which were situated oddly higher than the rest – and closed her eyes, opening them when the bus slowed and the driver called out a name, so that she could avoid being directly in someone’s path.

“Airport!” the driver yelled.

Roska straightened. She waited until it seemed no one else was rising from their seat and hurriedly stepped forward, and promptly smacked straight into an invisible Loki who grunted at the impact.

“Apologies,” whispered Roska, rubbing her throbbing nose as she made herself visible to him. Loki did not reply, though he did come into being in front of her.

The Coronel Felipe Varela Airport was a squat building, nearly all white with a single turret rising behind it. A plane rumbled into the sky above, the same color as the building and looking like the simplistic drawing of a child attempting a bird but with rounded burs clinging onto its wings.

They followed the flow of movement heading into the building, and found themselves in an open space bustling with activity. A large sign hanging from the ceiling pointed in several directions. Roska stood by the entrance, attempting to make sense of how they were to get on the plane. After several minutes of observation, she discerned that most of the people went over to wait in a queue before a long counter. They spoke to others behind the counter, occasionally leaving their travel-chests-on-wheels – for what purpose, she wondered – and then walked over to an even longer queue where they waited, looking bored or resigned, to take part in some form of commotion beyond.

Having surveyed the room enough, Loki stated, “I will ask about a plane to the Aokigahara.”

“I will wait here.”

Roska watched him walk away and out of her line of sight. She found a space along a wall that no one seemed to walk near and sank onto the ground, crossing her legs. The waterskin felt light as she lifted it to her mouth. She would need to find a place to refill it. As she tied it back around her belt, her knuckles brushed the pouch of rune stones. She fingered the bag.

Could she at least ask if all she had done so far was right? There was no changing the past. She was so used to finding answers from the runes or with her Sight. Children were supposed to look for the right path. Otherwise the Norns would not have gifted them with such methods to make decisions. She did not like the idea that she could be straying from the course of Fate. Just one question. No harm could come from that.

But no. The past influenced the future. She knew this. With reluctance, Roska let the pouch go.

After a time, Roska spotted Loki walking towards her. He looked displeased. She got to her feet.

“Well?”

“Well, the man I spoke to should be dismissed immediately for being incomparably dim-witted,” Loki snapped.

Roska rubbed her hands together worriedly. “He did not know of any plane to Japan?” Perhaps Japan was a militant land which did not allow outsiders across their borders. She might have to attempt to open a rift after all.

“Oh he knew _of_ them, but getting the plane we needed was another matter entirely.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Roska said, “So there is a plane.”

“Yes. And another and another and another.” When she frowned at him in bafflement, Loki explained, “It appears there is no plane that will take us directly. We will have to travel to three other cities before coming to…” He paused, remembering. “Shizuoka, a village in Japan. From there we will have to make our own way to the Aokigahara.”

Having to stop in three cities was not ideal, and having to take separate planes between each city seemed inefficient, but things were as they were. “And how long will this take?”

“A day and a half.”

“So long for a flight,” Roska murmured. Nearly any craft on Asgard could travel between the two farthest points on Midgard in much less. But what was a day or so? The Fang of Fenrir was not likely to be moving in such a short span of time. “Very well. Shall we go?”

They moved past the queue of people showing papers to uniformed guards who inspected the smaller sacks the travelers carried, past more queues where travelers spoke to more people behind counters who appeared to be inspecting their papers again – Roska was not at all certain what the purpose was of having papers inspected so many times – and finally into a hallway where the travelers moved about freely. Another large sign hung above where the hallway split. This board was lit with words that changed and changed back again.

“This way,” Loki prompted after staring up at the board.

The corridor they followed brimmed with activity. Travelers flitted in and out of shops, ran to find their plane, and wandered about with bags or plates of food. Roska’s stomach churned at the smell, and she was not entirely sure whether the feeling was due to illness or the fact that she had not eaten in some time.

A post where they stopped had a large sign declaring it, “Gate 3.” Another sign above a doorway lit in the same colors as the sign in the first hallway said, “Buenos Aires 18:20.”

Loki took over an empty chair and informed her, “The plane does not depart for another two hours.”

Roska lowered herself into the seat beside him and settled her hands in her lap. She watched a family across the way playing a game that involved kicking a fist-sized black and white ball between them. When her head began to ache from following the quick movement of the ball, she glanced at Loki and followed his rapt attention to a box above their heads, on which moving images played of New York while words scrolled beneath. If she listened closely, she could hear sound accompanying the images.

“… The president of the United States is expected to give an address shortly. But who were the extraterrestre that invaded New York? And could they come back? At least we know the Avengers will be there to give them a sound beating if they try.”

“That’s right, Malena. And one of those Avengers is Captain America, thought to be…”

Roska looked back to Loki. His tense jaw, hands curled into fists.

“Do you regret it?” she asked quietly, so as not to attract the attention of those nearby with her voice.

His fists uncurled. “I regret only that I did not have a more competent army.”

“You realized your mistake. I heard you tell Thor ‘it’s too late.’”

“I was merely distracting him so that I might escape,” Loki protested, setting his elbow on the arm of the chair. “Thor is sentimental, and the ruse worked.”

Roska did not believe him. She had seen the confusion in his eyes as the influence of Thanos cleared and the single tear that had tracked down his cheek. “A wise king admits his mistakes.”

Loki scoffed. “You think the All-Father has ever admitted to a mistake?”

No, she did not. But she also saw no reason why Loki had to follow the same path. “You could be a better king than him.”

Silence. Loki met her gaze, his eyes darting slightly as though her face were a dense tome in which he had to read the same line over and over to fully grasp its meaning. At last, he looked away, the intensity in his expression disappearing as if it had never been.

“What has Odin done to make you dislike him so?”

“Nothing,” Roska responded. “I neither like nor dislike him.”

Loki gave her a doubtful look. “And yet you are conspiring to have him killed.”

“Because he is no longer what Asgard needs.”

“And you know what is in the best interest of Asgard.”

“Yes,” said Roska, but after a slight hesitation. One which Loki had caught, judging by a tug at the corner of his lips. “I am as sure as I am able to be without asking the Norns.”

“And how would you ask them?”

“I use the Sight when I can. If I have a more specific question or am in need of an immediate answer, I use rune stones.”

Loki let out a chuckle. “If I had known it was so easy to speak with the Norns directly, I would have gone to a wood witch years ago.”

“You might not get a true answer.” Roska reached for the pouch at her waist. “Most rune stones have weak magic or a caster who does not understand how to truly interpret them.” Even she had difficulty reading the stones sometimes.

Delicately, Loki took the pouch from her hands. “But yours are special I take it.”

“Indeed, they are. The stones are from the Well of Urd, and they are much, much older than I am.”

Loki opened the bag and took out a stone. He examined it from all sides, holding it up to the light. Roska allowed him to inspect the other stones, closing her eyes and sinking into a meditative state to escape from the illness she presently felt until Loki jostled her arm and indicated the people filing out of the waiting hall.

Retying her rune stone pouch to her belt, Roska got up and followed Loki to the end of the long queue. They went down a long corridor and out to where heat rose from the hard, black ground. A much smaller bus took groups of travelers to a plane. The interior was very, very cramped, not at all like the two planes she had journeyed on so far since her arrival on Midgard. She hoped not all of the planes would be like this one or the mere day and a half of travel would seem close to a year and a half.

Unfortunately, Roska was forced to make herself intangible when a plane attendant walked up and down the corridor, an effort which left her sweating. Their ride passed in nearly the blink of an eye, for which she was thankful as the plane jolted about too often.

There was some confusion when they reached Buenos Aires about how to find their next plane. Eventually, Loki in the guise of a beautiful woman asked a guard for directions, and they ended up having to dash across the airport to reach the plane to take them to London.

This plane was much bigger, and while it still felt cramped, at least it traveled more smoothly in the sky. Loki took over an empty seat with lots of room around it towards the front of the plane. Roska found a seat between two Midgardians farther back and slipped in between when one of them got up. She lifted her legs up onto the seat, leaned her forehead against them, and tucked her arms between. She meant to rest her eyes, but promptly fell asleep.

She awoke to Loki shaking her arm and looking slightly above her head level. The plane had emptied, the attendants cleaning up what had been left behind.

In the time before the third plane, Roska found a metal basin that spurted water from which she refilled her waterskin and refreshed herself in the washroom. She also stole some food – Loki had eaten on the plane, taking a portion of food that was served when an attendant’s back was turned – but could only stomach a little of the meat between two slabs of bread.

The plane to Shanghai was much the same as the one that had taken them to London. This time they were fortunate enough to find two empty seats towards the front of the plane on a diagonal, so there would be no losing each other. Because of this, Roska felt secure enough to tuck herself into a ball and just sleep.

When she awoke, Roska thought Loki was again shaking her. She blinked blearily, rubbing a fist against one of her eyes. The chair jolted, almost throwing her from her seat. She gripped the armrests and looked around, more alert.

Although the first flight had been unsteady, this seemed worse. The man sitting in the same row as her had clicked together the strap to hold him to his chair and was staring out the window. Roska shifted cautiously to better her view. All she saw was the sky.

The plane jolted again, eliciting gasps and shouts from the travelers. A bell-like sound chimed.

“We seem to have hit unexpected winds,” said a voice from all around them. “Please be sure you are seated and wearing your straps.”

Roska leaned out into the corridor towards Loki and, not caring if they were heard, asked over the loud rumbling of the plane steadying itself, “Do you think this plane will hold?” If they had to make an escape, she needed to gather herself to open a rift, though she still felt very unwell and drained.

“Who can say?” Loki mused. “But Midgardian constructs tend to be about as strong as they are.” His grip on his chair tightened as the plane jerked to the right, knuckles turning white.

Roska landed hard against her seat, teeth clacking together. She saw the reason for the straps now and considered whether it might be best to do up her own. As she searched for the clasp part, a glint caught the corner of her eye. She looked up sharply.

No.

“What was that?” “What was that?” “Did you see?” “Did something go…?” “What was that?”

Not at this moment.

The plane lurched sideways. Towards the back of the plane, someone shrieked. A child began to wail. With a shudder, the plane straightened.

Roska got out of her chair and darted over to the window. She shoved the man back against his seat, ignoring the frantic babbling that resulted and peered outside. Only a clear deep blue sky and thick clouds below them. Perhaps she had been mistaken. But deep in her gut, Roska knew what she had seen.

“What is it?” Loki’s voice sounded in her ear. He had come up behind her, hunching so as not to hit the ceiling as he too looked out the window.

“I –”

Metal screamed, accompanied by a cacophony of voices shouting with it. Wind rushed through the plane in an icy blast. Pouches dropped from the ceiling, one smacking against Loki’s back. Roska pushed past him, heading for where six long talons withdrew from the top of the plane.

The wind pulled her towards the hole. Some of her braids came loose, flapping wildly about her head. Roska held onto the chairs, fighting against the force that threatened to spin her about and smash her into the ceiling. She aligned herself with one of the holes, which was as big around as she would be with her arms held out. No choice. She shoved herself off the ground, and the wind did the rest, yanking her out into the open air where she faced the radhogg.

Nearly as long as the Rainbow Bridge, but with none of its beauty, the radhogg marred the sky like a dark plume of smoke from a funeral pyre. Its skin was a mottled patchwork of spiny fur and scales the color of water at night. Sharp bone protruded in jagged peaks running from its tail to its maw, which opened to reveal matching teeth.

The radhogg slithered through the air, scales spiraling downwards as they were shed. While radhoggs were slender beings, this one seemed particularly thin and sickly; its skin pulled oddly across its bony frame. Radhoggs fed off chaos in the way plants fed off the light of the closest stars. Roska was surprised to see one on Midgard. Mayhap it had sensed the Infinity Stones or the influence of Thanos. But for whatever reason it had come, the radhogg had a clear target now.

“Stay back!” Roska shouted as loudly as she could at Loki through the holes in the plane while attempting to balance in her freefall. He looked between her and the radhogg. “It’s you it wants!”

Her warning came too late, and the radhogg dove towards the plane. Without thinking, Roska opened a rift, appearing on the radhogg’s back. She gripped one of its bony spines and yanked.

Startled and sensing the faintest waft of chaos magic still clinging to her from the previous day, the radhogg changed course in the direction she had pulled. It let out a high-pitched whistle and rolled. Roska clung harder, the spine cutting into her palms. The food she had eaten hours earlier nearly came up.

What was she to do? She had encountered only two radhoggs in her time, and in both instances she had trapped them with nets created from electric currents in the air, holding the magic until they had died. But she was weakened and would need to use what she stamina she had to do something about the plane.

The radhogg decided to go after the plane again. It collided with the side, tearing several more holes. A wing snapped off, and it lost its purchase, slipping back into the air.

The head, Roska suddenly remembered. There was a soft point at the back of its skull. Using the spines as a guide, she started making her way up the radhogg’s back, attempting to step on patches of fur rather than the smooth scales.

The radhogg snapped its body violently, an attempt to shake her off and into its waiting talons. Her palms slick with blood lost their grip. Roska tumbled, opening a rift below her to land on the radhogg’s head, but first a hand gripped above her elbow. She instinctively grabbed Loki’s arm as he lifted her up.

The instant her feet were on the radhogg again, Roska huffed in exasperation. “I told you to stay on the plane!”

However, the radhogg had sensed the aura of chaos magic changing location from the plane to its back. It reared, bending its long body and trying to send Roska and Loki into the air. They flinched back from each other, as a talon came between them, raking the radhogg’s skin instead. It let out a pained whistle.

Suddenly, there were doppelgangers of Roska and Loki all along the radhogg’s body. The radhogg hesitated in its attack, but for a mere second as it could sense the chaos magic on the true forms. It bent its body almost double, snapping near its legs where they clung to the spines.

“How do we kill this beast?” Loki asked, shooting a blast of light into the radhogg’s face. It shook its head irritably.

“Weak point behind its head. I will reach it,” Roska vowed, but Loki had already vanished along with the doppelgangers, damn him. She hung on as the radhogg whirled and thrashed, debating whether to open a rift regardless, but then she spotted Loki at the base of the radhogg’s head.

It shook back and forth. Loki stumbled, but gripped a spine at the last moment. Bright white light gathered in his palm, growing stronger and stronger until he thrust the hand forward, driving the spear of combat magic into the radhogg’s head.

A head-splitting whistle pierced Roksa’s ears. The radhogg wriggled but it was dropping through the sky, and them with it. If the beast was not dead, it soon would be. Or the Eir could take care of the rest.

Loki appeared beside her. They broke through the layer of clouds, water appearing vast and seemingly endless below them.

“I might be able to get us to the water,” said Loki, but he did not look certain.

Roska looked at the plane hurtling towards catastrophe below them. So many lives to be lost, Fate altered by the interference of the radhogg. She should not allow them to die. Whether she had the energy left within her, she did not know. But either she tried or everyone perished.

“When I tell you, get back inside the plane.”

Loki stared at her like she was mad. “I am not sure –”

“You are simply going to have to trust me,” Roska stated, and she let go of the radhogg.

“It seems I do not have much of a choice,” Loki muttered as she stretched her body out in a straight line, arms held out in front of her, falling below the radhogg.

Brows knit in concentration, Roska gathered the air below her. She compressed it, forcing it together. With a mighty shove, she pushed the air beneath the plane in a gust of strong wind. The plane slowed in its descent, shuddering almost to a halt before diving.

With the distance between them rapidly closing, Roska rolled over to look up at Loki. “Go now!” Her words might have been lost to the air, but her meaning was not. To her relief, he vanished. She did not see him when she rolled back over, so she could only assume he had made it onto the plane.

Roska closed her eyes. This would be the hardest part. She pictured the images she had seen of the Aokigahara on the cell, the pinpoint of it on a map of Midgard, and the description of the gap from the book of maps. She hoped they were not too far away. Sending out a prayer to the Norns, she opened her eyes and swiped her hands in a slashing motion the length of the plane. She felt the immediate physical drain as a rift opened onto a canopy of trees.

The plane hit the trees with a bang, but remained intact from what Roska could see. She dove straight down towards the plane. She passed the rift and shut it behind her, quickly pulling a gust of air below her immediately after. The air slowed her, but it was weak and her magic shield was only charged so much. She still smashed into the plane. Her sight went white upon impact, and her body slid and rolled off, breaking through the trees to hit the ground.

What happened next seemed to occur in bursts. She lay on her back. People milling about. Someone trod over her hand, and she let out a groan, startling them. Loki crouched above her. Roska stood up shakily.

“Get to the gap,” she murmured.

“It might be best to wait until you do not look as if you might swoon at any moment,” Loki asserted, but Roska ignored him. Once they were in Niflheim, they could rest.

“It is close by.”

She followed the faint hum the ward on the gap gave off, placed by the first Eir to discover it. She was in a cave, a long deep cave. They had to go around the stalagmites jutting out of the floor in a certain pattern to get through the gap.

They were backtracking because she had done it wrong, and the cave had ended in a wall. The smell in the air changed from damp stone to decaying earth and a thick, cloying scent like moldering flesh.

Loki announced, “I believe we have arrived.”

She handed him a pack and bedroll, taken from a pocket dimension where she had been storing them. She was curled up on the ground, head resting on a bedroll of her own still wrapped up.

Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fuller explanation of how All-Speak is going to work in this story for anyone who is wondering after reading this chapter. 
> 
> Everything the speakers (Roska and Loki) understand is in English reflective of how they talk. The exception would be if either of them had to spell out a word. I believe that All-Speak would not translate individual letters because they do not innately hold meaning.
> 
> All-Speak can translate words that the speakers know or have a comparable frame of reference for. Example: Roska knows what planes are because she has heard the word in association with seeing a plane. She knows about ports for flying crafts. Therefore, All-Speak can translate the word "airport." Similarly, at first Roska has never seen something like a bus, so the word remains in the native Spanish "omnibus." Once she sees the bus, she has a reference point. To indicate this, the word becomes "bus."
> 
> Words that Roska or Loki don't know will remain in the native language of the speaker. Example: variants of the word "alien" because there is no word Roska has learned for intelligent beings that come from any realm except Earth.


	4. Prír

When Roska faded from view, Loki found a nearby dry spot and permitted himself to sink down onto the cold stone without his usual grace. The jump between beast and plane had drained him more than he let on. It was the longest distance he had ever made. He had heard once that Midgardians had developed rings that allowed them to open rifts with more ease, but scoffed at the idea that a race with such an inferior understanding of science could invent anything of the sort. However, between the unusual sparks that appeared when the man calling himself the Eir had created a rift and the massive scale of Roska’s rift, he supposed it was worth looking into at a later time.

At the thought of Roska, Loki glanced over to her. Or rather, the corner in which she lay. He hoped this was not an annoying habit of hers, falling unconscious when he had numerous questions to ask. He supposed she had been looking ill before performing very powerful casting followed by smashing into a plane, but regardless, he did not have much patience for it. If she was going to keel over after every casting, she was no longer an asset.

But, Loki had to admit, she’d had her uses so far. Spiriting him away from the Avengers. Working the casting to grant him true invisibility. Telling him how to kill that beast and getting them to safety – though saving the entire plane seemed unnecessary. So he would not abandon her just yet. Besides, he had agreed to embark on this quest for the Fang of Fenrir. He might as well make more than just the first step of the journey. Assuming the fainting would cease after this, he thought their travels might even be amusing and should they land him on Asgard’s throne, so much the better. He could wait for her to wake.

Loki lifted a pack onto his lap, bringing closer the ball of light he had created from its perch hovering at the top of the cave. In the meanwhile, it would be best to see what Roska had given him.

Firstly, he unstoppered one of the two skins that had been tied to the pack and poured enough of the contents to fill the palm of his hand. Water. It should not be wasted in such a fetid realm, where any water sources were likely to kill someone faster than they could drink. Loki brought the handful to his lips, hesitated, and ultimately drank.

He sniffed the other skin. It smelled of mead. He took a long swallow. Though he was partial to ale over mead, he relished the sweet flavor. He had not tasted anything of home in what felt like eons, and would gladly drain the whole skin. Barrels of mead would be served at the feast following his ascension to the throne, made from the finest honey on Asgard. Closing his eyes, he could picture the field of hives nearest the palace, the air humming with the vibrations of a million tiny wings. He had snuck there once with Thor to steal honeycombs and eat themselves sick.

The flavor on his tongue soured. Loki closed the skin, frowning in distaste. Perhaps ale would be preferable after all.

Thirst quenched for the time being, Loki opened the pack. Food had been stored on top, wrapped tightly in animal hides. He opened just one hide, finding strips of dried meat. He considered tasting some, but he had eaten on the plane and so set the food aside.

Then, he pulled out a disk of plain metal, folded like the shell of some water-dwelling creature. Loki carefully opened the disk and discovered it was a small brush. He inspected the thick white bristles and metallic handle. It looked like a kind of bathing brush. As if there would be a suitable bathhouse in Niflheim or some travel inn where the servants could draw him a bath. He snorted and set the brush aside.

Next, he discovered a fireglobe.

Loki surveyed the damp cave, deciding where would be best to sleep. He chose the flattest patch of rock he could find and stood beside it. He turned the horizontal hemispheres of the fireglobe in opposite directions, counting the metallic clicks until he reached the desired temperature. Loki rotated the vertical hemispheres once, twice, three times, and set the fireglobe on the ground. It opened like a sliced fruit, sections falling apart evenly and pushing at the ground so the center rose. From the middle of the fireglobe, Loki took a sphere a quarter of the size. Tendrils of flame began to ignite and would soon form into a fire warm enough, he hoped, to dry out the damp stone.

Loki returned to the pack, setting the small sphere aside for when he wished to close the fireglobe. He reached inside and took out a golden comb etched with an intricate depiction of a serpent, which he stared at in disbelief. This comb was from his bedchambers. Frigga had gifted it to him on a long ago nameday.

He tore through the rest of the pack, which contained only clothes, mostly his. He clenched his travel cloak between his hands, furious that Roska had been able to stroll right into his bedchambers. Had she done so before when he was still there? The idea of her rooting around in his bedchambers made rage uncoil in his chest. How dare she take his things?

But this meant she could get into Hlidskialf unnoticed. Loki slowly uncurled his fists. And as far as he knew, she had taken no more than he needed for a journey. He had not caught her robbing from him. When Roska woke, he would question her. For now, he could use a change of clothes. Donning new garments was as close to being clean as he was going to get, unless the Fang of Fenrir lay in a hidden clear-water hotspring – Niflheim’s second best kept secret.

Loki lifted his eyes to the place where Roska lay out of sight. He walked over and prodded her with the toe of his boot.

“Roska?”

No sound of her stirring. As a matter of fact, if he listened closely, Loki could hear her snoring. Satisfied she was most definitely not waking in the near future, he pulled off his clothes.

The light of the fire flickered across his skin, creating shadows over the hundreds of scars scattered across his body. They circled around his wrists and ankles, lined his back, curved across his chest in a hideous approximation of the wretched skin he had been born with. Loki dressed swiftly to avoid looking at the scars for long.

He tried not to think about how he had obtained the scars either, but fury, shame, and despair lifted arms to engulf him, and Loki withdrew into himself, down, down, to avoid feeling their touch. His expression, which had trembled with emotion, flattened into a mask.

Loki did not know how long he stood there, but with a shake of his head, he was himself again. He would be king of Asgard, and then the scars would not matter.

Returning to his corner of the cave, Loki crouched and repacked while, with a mental flick of magic, whisking his soiled clothing into the same pocket dimension as his armor. Once he finished with the pack, it followed his clothing.

The fireglobe burned bright, the stone immediately surrounding it already dry. It would not take long before he would be able to spread out his bedroll to sleep. In the meanwhile, Loki resolved to get a better look at the Filrar. He had gotten a mere glimpse of the forest before Roska had turned them back.

The cave expanded from either side of a corridor of stone, and Loki followed the corridor towards the gap’s opening. The smell in the air worsened as he grew closer. It smelled like dirt somehow, but not plain soil or mud. This was foul muck. Like the scent of the stables after a rainstorm, only much stronger. And beneath it all pervaded the sickly sweet odor of something rotting.

Loki wrinkled his nose as he pressed forward until he finally reached the opening and there he stopped.

A forest stretched out before him, a twisted mirror of the one they had left behind. The Aokigahara had been packed with thin trees wrapped in light brown bark with spindly limbs high overhead covered in bursts of bright green leaves that reached up for light while the long roots of the trees stretched across a ground of pale dirt and lush mosses. The Filrar had thin, densely populated trees as well, but their bark was almost black and split in the same flaking pattern as dry skin. Leaves grew sparely and were tinged a faint yellow turning towards light that Loki knew filtered through a constant haze of clouds, though he could barely see them through the branches. The dirt on the ground had a blackish color similar to the tree bark, and he could spot no moss or plants of any kind breaking through it apart from the trees.

There was an inherent wrongness to looking out at a forest and seeing nothing but trees, and Loki spent some time searching for any sign of a different sort of leaves or a stray vine. He left the gap, circling around the entrance which rose from the ground as if an animal had dug it out. The forest looked nearly identical in all directions. He realized that it was utterly silent too, as so few places were. No cry of a bird or the stirring of wind.

A creeping sensation rolled over Loki’s skin. He had spent too much time in silence as of late.

Loki returned back to the cave where the fireglobe was still drying the floor. He found his corner and sank down, rubbing his bruised ribs which had continued to irritate him since New York. Roska should have packed some healing stones. Quite an oversight on her part. Unless she had one in a separate pack or on her person, but that did him no good. He grimaced and closed his eyes. The bruising would fade. He had endured worse.

Slowly, Loki relaxed, the constant guard he had learned to keep up at all times loosening. Although the heat of the flames exacerbated the smell in the air, the warmth soothed him. He adapted quickly to rises and falls in temperature, only intense heat making him truly uncomfortable. A trait he had never thought much upon until he found out what he was. But rather than think on that now – or ever – Loki enjoyed the spread of warmth up from his feet, which were closest to the fireglobe, to his chest. The bruising there seemed less painful when touched by the heat.

He might have fallen asleep there, propped up against the wall, if not for the skittering of small stones bouncing against the ground.

At once, Loki was alert. Had Roska stirred in her sleep or was there something else in the cave? Few knew about gaps, but few were enough to cause a disturbance. Or an animal could have crawled in through the entrance. Perhaps another of those beasts. Roska had mentioned it had been drawn to him. He strained his ears, keeping his eyes closed lest he warn an intruder of his wakefulness.

Then, Loki remembered that he was invisible, and he opened his eyes. He glanced around the cave, but saw nothing out of place. He waited for another sound, the grating of rock or a breath. Why had he not set a shield around the cave immediately? Clearly he was wearier than he had thought to have made the grievous oversight.

No further sound came. Instead, Loki saw the fire shift like a breeze had past it by. Something was in the cave. He wondered if it was Roska. Had this all been an elaborate ruse? She could also have left the cave without him knowing, sending in another person. In his hands, he readied a burst of combat magic.

His bedroll shifted minutely, the center bowing as though pressed by an unseen hand before springing back. Loki imagined an unseen figure feeling around the bedroll, looking for him. The figure took on Roska’s features. Although, this seemed an odd trick if it was her. Pretending to be the Dragur was not the most trust-inspiring tactic. Putting on a display of saving him from a beast, however, was a better move. So the figure might be Roska. Or an ally of hers.

_????_

The probing, questioning feeling appeared in Loki’s head, a thought that seemed to unfurl of its own accord from his mind. His body, already tense, tightened further at the invasion.

_????_

This time he got the sense of a direct question forming like a bubble that abruptly burst, flooding his mind with understanding.

_Who else is here?_

Not Roska, Loki thought. And not someone who knew that he specifically was in the cave. He considered. Remain silent and the figure might go away, but he decided it more likely that they would lie in wait for the owner of the fireglobe. Furthermore, he could only remain still for so long. Attack? But he could not see the target. If he threw bolts of combat magic across the entirety of the cave, Roska might perish, which would be inconvenient. If he waited, the figure could do the very same while he tarried.

Left with not much choice, Loki created the projection of a man standing in the center of the cave. He moved his mouth, and the man spoke.

“I have shown myself. Now, who is here with me?”

The cave was still. Loki glanced at the fireglobe, but the flames did not flicker as they had before. If the figure moved, it left no sign. For all he knew, it could be circling his false self at this moment. He raised his hands, the combat magic stretching into a dagger of light.

_Why have you come to this place?_

Loki debated how best to answer. He could say he stumbled upon the gap quite by accident, but the excuse sounded poor to his ears. But any excuse was a poor reason to visit Niflheim. No one came to this place. The poison of this realm seeped into the ground, the water, the very air itself. Himself excepted of course, only fools came to this realm of their own volition. Fools or madmen. And what sounded madder than the truth? A piece of it, at least.

“The Draugr sent me.”

Most curiously, disbelief or a demand for a more “truthful” answer did not at once follow. Was it possible this figure believed in the Children of Norn? He had met two such believers in less than a week, so Loki surmised the odds were not completely insurmountable. Especially if this figure was either from or heading towards Niflheim themselves, so either they were a fool, mad, or what? Seeking the Fang of Fenrir as well? Those odds seemed much longer.

Hold on. Loki narrowed his eyes in thought. An unseen figure potentially from Niflheim. When he had first sensed the figure, his mind had leapt to them already knowing somehow that he was here. With his invisibility, no one should have seen him or Roska. It had taken the figure some time to arrive, so it was unlikely it heard them either. How had it known?

‘Who else is here?’ the figure had asked. Else. It _knew_ Roska was here. It could see her. And Roska had been muttering to herself about a ward as they headed to the gap. A ward put up by the Eir that she could sense. And if the Eir had supposedly put a ward on the Midgardian side of the gap, then on the other side of the gap would be another ward created by the Child on Niflheim.

Loki struggled to remember the name, but it came to him. “Am I in the presence of the Haga?”

A pause. Then, a feeling of affirmation.

Suddenly, the figure called the Haga revealed itself. About the size of his forearm, it hovered high above the ground, translucent beetle-like wings batting the air more slowly than seemed necessary to keep the being aloft. The body had an equally insectile quality. Its skin looked hard and shiny, glinting dark brown with pale yellow spots dappling its abdomen. Five legs poked out of its body, two on each side and one at the back, thick and covered in sharp-looking bristles. Its head protruded oddly from a too-long neck, gathering to a sharp point. It had no discernible mouth nor nose nor ears, but it did have a single eye which was unsettling as it looked exactly like his own, white with a ring of pale blue around a circle of black.

_Be still._

The figure lifted momentarily, its wings grazing the stone ceiling and sending rocks skittering to the ground. It flew down and darted around the illusion. Its eye took on a filmy sheen, trickling a viscous liquid from the corners and making Loki curl his lip in disgust.

What he did notice besides the repulsive display was that as the figure whirled upwards, it revealed a blue glow in its abdomen and the faint outline of the Fate rune he had seen on the man who believed himself to be the Eir’s amulet. While Loki recalled Roska having several amulets around her neck, he did not remember spotting the same one. He might ask her about it when she woke.

After several minutes of this flight, the figure stopped face to face with his illusion, the sheen fading as that single eye blinked.

 _I have looked into That Which Is To Be and seen that you are telling the truth, Jotun Prince._ Loki clenched his jaw at the mention of his heritage, having the urge to swat the figure like a gnat. _I therefore can do nothing, as this is –_

“The Draugr’s Choosing,” Loki snapped. “I have been informed already.” He took a breath to steady his anger. He should use this opportunity. “But great Haga, you see, the Draugr is indisposed at the moment, and I am concerned she will not pull through. It seems like the best course for me is to follow her wishes and locate the Fang of Fenrir. Would you at least tell me where to find it? Since the Draugr already knows, you would not be interfering.”

Loki made his false self give the figure a charming smile. He would much rather have this vital piece of information than leave it to Roska, if the Fang of Fenrir was not a myth and was reachable. Should she die or he become tired of waiting for her to wake, he could retrieve the Fang himself and take the throne.

The figure’s eye took on a look of suspicion.

 _Why does the Draugr seek the Fang of Fenrir?_ Loki opened his mouth, this time to lie, but the figure spoke into his mind first. _No, do not tell me. I will give you nothing but this. To claim the Fang, one must face who they truly are. It cuts through all shields and magics. No trickery can hide you._ It flew closer until it was almost touching his false self’s nose. _No illusions._ It drifted backwards, its eye darting around as Loki realized it knew he was elsewhere. _I leave you to the course of Fate. Norns watch you._

The figure disappeared. Loki waited for a long moment before allowing the illusion to fade and letting out a huff of annoyance. As if he would agree to search for the Fang of Fenrir without knowing what it could do. It was the only weapon he could conceive of guaranteed to kill the All-Father. The blade would break through all his shields, any force Odin turned against it. Not even the Odin-Sleep would be able to save him.

Of course, the figure had added some cryptic layer to the warning, which sounded like utter nonsense. Face who he truly was? Loki shook his head in a single jerk. He knew who he was. He was not afraid to face himself. The scars on his chest seemed to tingle, and he scratched at the center of them irritably.

The Draugr, the Eir, and the Haga. They must all know each other. Mayhap they had met in one of the gaps and decided they were the Children of Norn. Perhaps the Norn’s Fateful went on pilgrimages to spread word of the Children to other realms, and all of them had heard the call.

Truth be told, Loki had no idea what the Norn’s Fateful did. He had never so much as set foot in their temple. The idea of the Aesir worshipping any beings was ludicrous to him, and if the Children ever existed, they were no longer. Although, it did amuse him to imagine telling the flock that he had met three of the Children in a week. They would probably bow before him in awe and then beat their breasts in jealousy behind closed doors. He might have to visit the temple once he was king.

Mostly certain that the figure had gone, Loki created a shield to block off the corridor for long enough to rest. The floor had dried so that he could stretch out his bedroll. He took out the small sphere and tossed it towards the fireglobe. As though pulled by magnetism, the sphere shot towards the center of the fire. The flames died instantly, and the sphere dropped back into place. The fireglobe folded back into itself. Loki tucked it away and lay down to sleep.

He slept deeply, too tired to be plagued by dreams or nightmares, and woke days later to several cramps and a full bladder. His body seized in dreaded anticipation of what was to come, but his mind caught up, and Loki stretched. He left the cave to relieve himself – the shields had gone down; he had not anticipated sleeping so long. Swishing around a mouthful of mead to rid himself of the unpleasant taste of a long slumber, Loki bent down beside Roska. She did not seem to have moved, and when he touched her face, her breath felt hot against his hand. Good enough. Loki packed his bedroll and tucked it in a pocket dimension. He walked around the cave to stretch his legs, then paced the corridor, then stood outside the gap.

Time passed in much the same way. Loki slept a great deal more than he ever had. When he woke, he took a stroll. Gradually, Loki wandered farther from the gap into the Filrar. He failed to see what all the fuss was about. He had been taught that the Filrar was a sea of trees with monsters and other dangers lurking behind every branch, but the only danger he foresaw was dying of boredom.

Eventually, Loki ate some of the dried meat from his pack while contemplating how much longer he intended to wait on Roska. He supposed she would need water soon and food, but he did not like the idea of being anyone’s nursemaid. The smell in the cave had grown worse of late, and Hel if he would attempt to deal with that particular mess.

Loki tore off another strip of meat and chewed. Conceivably, he could create enough rifts in succession to reach from here to the gap leading onto Asgard, but he had no concept of how far the distance was and therefore how draining it would be. And he might tire so much that he needed sleep, but with no suitable shelter around. Did he remember the way back to Midgard? Loki eyed the corridor. Roska had been weaving about quite a lot, and he hadn’t been entirely convinced at the time that she knew what she was doing. If only she had given him that book of maps she had spoke of.

As there was not much for him to do, he tried going back to Midgard. Loki navigated around the stalagmites in the pattern he remembered, but they all looked similar. Finally, he hit a wall and retreated to make another attempt. Roska had touched the walls sometimes. She had appeared to need the stone for support, but perhaps there was more to it. He tried again and again, but gave up in frustration.

More wandering, sleeping, staring into the fire, a few more attempts to reach Midgard.

Loki lounged against the gap entrance, arms folded, glaring out at the Filrar. Enough. He would wait no more. Anything was better than being tethered to the cave. He was through being trapped in a prison.

With a sharp turn, Loki stalked back down the corridor. He took the bedroll from beneath Roska’s head and put it in a pocket dimension. He lifted her up, holding her at arm’s length to avoid the smell as much as possible. She was lighter than he had expected. True, she was small, but her armor had looked heavy. He would carry her for a distance. If she died, her body could feed the ravens, or whatever scavengers lived in this realm. If she became a hindrance in any way, she would remain where he dropped her.

Loki walked them to the gap entrance and beyond to as far as he had strayed. There he opened the first rift, which took them to a point that had been within his sight. He opened another and stepped through. And another. Step. And another. Step.

And something knocked his feet out from under him.

* * *

Roska woke as she hit the ground, letting out a pained _ooff_ of air. She rolled to her side in a daze, trying to remember where she was. The plane. They had been walking to the gap. Niflheim. Yes, they had made it to Niflheim.

A force gripped around her navel, and Roska gasped. Looking down, she saw the dark root of a tree wrapped around her body. Roots writhed all around her. She tapped into her shield amulet to activate it, but most of the energy had been used to absorb a portion of her impact against the plane.

But having regained most of her strength, Roska was able to pull energies together, weaving them into a casting that would slice the roots apart.

A blast of combat magic raked the ground, some of the roots withdrawing. Loki.

Roska reached out blindly towards the source of the magic and found an arm. She gripped and felt Loki instinctively tug away.

“Hold on to me!”

His arm knocked into her wrist. Roska moved her hand to grab it as he fumbled for hers, but she was barely concentrating. Instead, she focused on forming a ball of magic. The roots swarmed over her, twining together. They tore at her garments and squeezed her legs. A thin root slid over her earlobe, pressing in. Another had found her mouth.

Roska made the ball solid, forming a sphere around them that sliced into the roots, which went limp. She remembered what she could of the gap and opened a rift below them. They fell only a hand’s width and landed on the hard stone, the dead roots clattering around them. She shut the rift and blinked up at the ceiling, which reflected a dim light from the gap’s entrance.

No longer focused on an impending threat, her first thought came out in an incredulous huff. “Did you take us into the Filrar without a _map_?”

Roska could hardly believe it. A terrible decision. The second one she had seen him make. This was worrying.

“You did not leave me any choice,” Loki responded, stone crunching as he moved. “If you had given me the book of maps and told me our exact destination, perhaps I would have had us halfway there by now.”

“Would you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you have taken me as far as you could go? Or would you have gotten yourself halfway there and left me behind?”

Roska had kept the book of maps and a few other items in her pack for a similar reason. She had known Loki preferred to work alone and that he might not believe her and make off with the book. Now, she was concerned that Loki might have left her. Making decisions out of sympathy or personal attachment to a person were weaknesses. As a Child, Roska had been told this since her Birthing. But if she had the maps and knowledge to find the Fang of Fenrir and Loki knew this, he should have waited for her to awaken and not rashly taken them into the Filrar.

“I took you when I left,” Loki pointed out, sounding irritated.

“We had barely gone any distance,” countered Roska. Opening the rift to take them back had been immensely easy. “Once you tired, would it have been a different matter?” His pause troubled her further. “So you would have left.”

“You have no idea what I would have done.”

Roska rolled over and pushed herself up to a sitting position, making herself visible. “I have what you need for the betterment of Asgard, and you were going to abandon me.”

Loki appeared opposite her, his expression as cold as the stone around them. “What did you expect from me? That I would sit here waiting years on you? You looked half-dead when you collapsed.” He rubbed a shoulder where his travel cloak had been torn. “Besides, I thought you said that the whole purpose of this journey was to put me on the throne. What does it matter if you are there or not?”

“It is my Choosing.”

“And by giving me the tools to gain the throne, you are still making a choice.” He gave her a look that suggested she may have some ulterior motivations, which made Roska angry.

“Must you look at me that way?”

Loki’s expression flattened. “What way?”

“What I am attempting is to guide the fate of the Nine Realms. I must be there to ensure the right path is followed as best I can. And your irresponsible decisions are not inspiring any confidence.”

Loki smiled, but it did not quite meet his eyes. “Beginning to think Thor would make a better king after all?”

Roska did not know what to think, and it terrified her. She had been slightly uncertain in her Choosing already, but created the beginnings of a plan that reassured her. However, they had just begun the journey and she was already developing doubts. She wanted to reach out to the Norns so badly.

And she did on instinct. Roska slipped into That Which Is To Be, holding onto the thread that kept her grounded, but it was clouds, all clouds. Nothing around her. No path to tell her where to go. She should not be here. She followed the thread back, cursing her weakness.

Loki had gotten to his feet. He leaned against one of the walls, looking down at her in annoyance. When she met his gaze, he pushed a breath out through his nose.

“I thought you were about to collapse again. That’s not a habit, is it?”

Roska stared up at Loki. He was supposed to be the one. If Thanos attacked, if anyone attacked, she had thought he would be the right choice for the king of Asgard. She had never doubted before her Choosing. She did not like it, this uncertainty. What if she had chosen wrong? What if she failed the Norns?

Loki _had_ to be the right choice. She would not waver, Roska resolved. She would give him another chance. One final chance to prove himself. His first error could be due to Thanos’ influence, and he had seen the wrongness of it. This error was his own, but no being was perfect. In fact, perhaps he would not have left her at all. There was no definitive proof.

“No,” Roska stated. “No, I was attempting to use the Sight.”

“Attempting?”

“It will not work during the time of my Choosing.”

Loki eyed her. “I was not aware there were so many limitations on the Sight.”

“There are not usually.” Roska stood up and noticed Loki’s nose wrinkle. She glanced down at herself and spotted the reason. She had been feeling uncomfortable, now that she thought about it. “I will clean myself up, and then we can consult my book together. If that is amenable to you?”

With a shrug, Loki said, “Very well.” He turned and took a few steps up the corridor.

Nerves clamped down on Roska’s belly as she watched him go and her voice rose past her lips. “Loki.” He stopped and looked back. “I still think you will make a greater king than Thor. Or your father.”

Loki cocked his head like he was listening for a sound a long way off as he looked at her intently. But just for a moment before he turned away again and walked off.

Roska nodded to herself. “A great king,” she muttered. She had no doubts.

After shedding her armor and clothing, Roska brought forth her pack from its pocket dimension with a twist of her hands. She crammed two strips of dried meat into her mouth and dug through the contents of the pack to find the bathing brush.

On the handful of trips Roska had taken away from Asgard, she had never needed to pack more than the barest of essentials. A bathing brush was not what she would have considered essential, but she was aware that people tended to shy from her if she did not wash frequently enough. Usually she would not care, but Loki was a prince and those of a higher class got much fussier about natural body odors.

Roska had strolled through the predominant marketplace on Alfheim to find the necessities for this trip, as the Light Elves were frequent travelers. She came across a vendor selling these cylindrical bathing brushes. She watched the vendor show a couple how it worked. Simply place a drop of water and rub the bristles across the skin, and the brush would clear all manner of dirt away and leave a fresh scent in its wake. Add another drop when finished and close the brush; it would be clean when opened again. She had taken two and placed one in each pack.

Once the brush was unfolded, Roska poured a drop of water on the bristles from her waterskin and took a drink herself. She scrubbed her skin until it appeared clean, put another drop of water on the brush, and tucked it away.

Her tunic and breeches would be of no use until she could wash them. As a matter of fact, they were most likely ruined, but Roska never threw anything away unless it was definitely unsalvageable. She tucked them into a pocket dimension separate from the rest of her things. Inspecting one of her greaves, she decided her armor needed to be polished, but that could wait. She pulled on fresh clothing – which was almost identical to her previous garments, a supple fabric dyed black – strapped her minimal armor plates over it, and went in search of Loki.

She did not have to go far. Loki had taken up guard of the entrance, making himself visible when he heard her coming. He inspected her with a frown and a twitch of his nostrils.

“Did you manage to bring a full basin with soaps?” he asked. “Or just scented water?”

“I used the bathing brush.” Roska’s eyebrows pinched. She had been certain she put one in his pack. “Did you not see yours? I thought –”

Loki flicked his wrist dismissively, as though she were boring him. “We can discuss it later. You have the book?”

“Uh, yes. Indeed I do.”

Roska turned her hands, and a massive tome appeared. It was covered in worn leather, once dyed an emerald green, but now faded. An intricate depiction of Yggdrasill had been inked onto the front. Roska had placed several markers between the pages, and she flipped through to the correct page as Loki circled behind her to get a better look.

“So this is the Filrar,” said Roska, indicating a page that mapped the forest. Certain places had been marked with names such as the Grove of Deepest Night, while symbols were used to indicate perils such as a cross for living trees, which Loki had already stumbled into. “Now this map is at least fifteen-thousand years old, and does not indicate every danger, but it should be enough to get us through. This seems to be the safest path.” She drew a line through the forest with her finger.

“And the Fang of Fenrir is close to that point?” Loki asked.

Roska shook her head and flipped back to a full map of Niflheim. “We will have to cross over the Elivagar.”

“Of course we will,” muttered Loki as she pointed to the mountain range.

“Fortunately our destination is just on the other side.” Roska tapped a point labeled Rijd’s Valley.

“But you cannot get us any closer?”

“No. There are almost no descriptions or sketches of this realm apart from the gaps, and this is the closest one. I do not have the ability to scry, and as you are aware, the Sight is closed to me. The runes…” Roska hesitated. Could she ask for a description of Rijd’s Valley? She supposed as long as she intended to journey there no matter what, the length of the journey may not matter. “I shall try. Hold this.”

Loki took the tome from her, and Roska knelt on the ground. She poured the rune stones into her hands. She formed the question, asking for a specific description of Rijd’s Valley. The words crackled in her mouth. The rune stones cooled. She cast them downwards, hopeful that she would at least have one small answer today.

The rune stones all landed face down, looking like thirty-nine plain stones. Roska sighed, a weight pressing against her chest. She was very truly alone.

“I take it they’re of no use either then,” Loki gathered, not sounding surprised.

“No,” Roska agreed morosely. She put the stones away and stood, while Loki flicked through the pages.

“So we walk to Rijd’s Valley.”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Using our system of time or that of Niflheim?”

“Ours.”

“Well, presuming we use rifts to shorten our journey, by my estimation it will be about four months.” Loki lifted his eyes from the page, and Roska raised her hands helplessly. “It is a large realm and we are on foot.”

“Fine.” Loki flipped another page. “Four months to reach the Fang. That is not so long.”

“Well, four months to reach Rijd’s Valley where we will find the Preemond, who will hopefully still have the Fang of Fenrir.”

Amongst her possessions, Roska held a number of items from those who had been Draugr before her. One of those items was a journal so old that its parchment had turned yellow and the ink was almost impossible to read. Several of the entries related to the Fang of Fenrir, and one detailed how it had been deemed too powerful to be put in the hands of any ruler and had been given to a being named Rttiulz to keep safe. Curious one week, Roska had searched into the name and found it was of Preemond origin.

Loki paused mid-flip. “The Preemond have the Fang?” he queried with a chuckle.

“In all likelihood. If not, they should know where it is.”

“Why of all the beings in all the realms would the Preemond have it?”  

Roska folded her arms, not taken aback by his skepticism. The Preemond were not considered a people of any import. Most Aesir would put them well below Midgardians.

“It seems our predecessors decided that no one would think to look with them.”

“Of course not,” Loki scoffed. “A roving pack of superstitious zealots. Speaking of which, how do you know they will be in Rijd’s Valley? If I recall correctly, the Preemond are nomadic.”

“They are, but according to my findings, Rijd’s Valley is one of their sacred places which they return to around the time we should be arriving.”

That was, if her information was not too far out of date. Once Loki was on the throne, she meant to suggest that a group of scholars be organized to take better stock of Niflheim. Asgard should have superior knowledge of all realms under its protection.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “And if they are not there?”

“I am hoping they will be.”

“And if they are not?”

Roska did not want to think about what would happen if the Preemond were not at Rijd’s Valley. “You said four months is not so long. Will you give me four months if it means you sit on the throne in the fifth?”

After some thought, Loki nodded. “Very well. Which way?”

Relieved, Roska pointed to her left. The description of the gap had included where the entrance to Niflheim led. Loki walked in that direction, still perusing the book of maps. Roska debated if she should take it back, but he had agreed to go with her. She knew more about the Fang, and he was going to need her to take the throne. Probably. She had not come up with that part of the plan yet, but she had four months to think on it. She would come up with a viable plan. Everything would work out. No doubts. None.


	5. Fjórir

The net of tree limbs overhead grew tighter, choking the pale light so that only the thinnest rays managed to filter through. Roska tilted her head up as she passed into one such shaft and glimpsed the hazy orange cloud cover beyond.

On Niflheim, the sky retained the same muted brightness for years on end, darkening only during storms until the closest star was consumed by the Well of Vergelmir and ushered in years of blackness. Since a consultation of her runes revealed that Niflheim had moved into the path of a new star, Roska had not packed any sustained light sources. One of her amulets could emit light if she consistently fed energy into it. However, as Loki had created a ball with a bluish-white glow above his head in order to better see the book of maps, she was currently working to bolster the drained amulet that created her shield. If the Filrar grew much darker though, she might have to switch her attentions to the other amulet while still holding the casting that muted the sounds they were making in the otherwise silent forest.

Paper rustled as Loki flipped to a new page. He had been reading his way through the book with meticulous intent. Apart from making sure that he had blocked the light from anything but their eyes, Roska had not spoken a word to him. If not for the occasional sound, she would have forgotten he was there altogether, unused to company as she was.

As a matter of fact, she did forget more than once as she mulled over her incomplete plan to put Loki on the throne. Then, the echoing thump of a footstep or movement out of the corner of her eye would bring Roska back with a start as she became hyperaware that there was another person standing mere paces away who could see her and knew she existed.

It was distracting. Roska felt like she should be acting differently somehow than when she walked alone, which was ridiculous. Loki had not been paying her any attention since they left the gap.

When she stopped feeling so conscious about herself, she moved on to being conscious of him. She searched for signs that he would still be the king she hoped for, but telling that much was difficult from body language alone. At least his interest in knowledge of the other realms showed promise. No trace of Thanos’ influence made itself apparent, but time might tell on that account.

“Enjoying the view?” Loki asked when Roska peered at a partial scar on his neck.

“Just looking,” said Roska, which inexplicably made him grin. “You’ve got another scar right –”

She lifted a finger to point it out, but Loki shifted away from her. Roska realized that she had moved very close to him and, following his lead, also took a step to the side.

“If I ask about it, are you going to avoid the subject again?” Roska questioned.

Loki returned his gaze to the book of maps with a nonchalance belied by the sudden tension in his back. “I think our agreement was I will tell you whatever you wish once I am convinced that you are indeed the Draugr.”

“Fair enough,” Roska agreed. And since she had an ever increasing number of questions, she wanted to gain his trust on the matter as soon as possible. “What can I do to convince you?”

Loki shut the book with a snap. “Let’s think.”

The book faded from between his hands, but as the book was not his to keep, Roska reached after it with a tendril of magic. She pulled the book from the pocket dimension where he had tucked it, and placed it in one of her own.

Loki rolled his shoulders like a chill had passed over him. “Did you…” He turned his hands, as one would to call the book back. When it did not appear, he looked momentarily caught by surprise.

“You can look at it again later if you wish,” Roska told him. “But that book is mine to safeguard.”

“I see.” Loki opened and closed his hands in consideration. “Was there a casting on that book or can you steal anything from a pocket dimension?”

“It is not stealing if the book is mine, but yes, I can take anything as long as I know where it is kept. But as to the –”

“How?”

Roska shook her head. “We have plenty of time to discuss that particular casting later. How can I prove to you that I am the Draugr?”

“By your estimations, we have plenty of time for that as well,” Loki noted dryly.

Roska frowned at him. “Must you always answer my questions with some clever remark?” It was not a habit she would prefer to deal with for the rest of her time with him.

“No,” Loki replied with a shrug of one shoulder. “I could answer with a dull remark, but that would make the conversation much less interesting.”

“For you perhaps.”

“For both of us I should think.”

Roska sighed, rubbing the fingers of her right hand together. A sensation wriggled at the back of her mind that felt dreadfully like doubt and she meant to squash it at once.

“Could you please just tell me what I can do?” she begged.

Eyeing her like a disappointing nameday present, Loki said, “Very well.” He thought briefly. “You said the All-Father sent you after me. How did you convince him that you are the Draugr?”

“I didn’t. My predecessor told him I would come.”

“Then, how did your predecessor convince him?”

“I am not certain. It is rare for a Child to meet the one who comes before, and I never had a reason to look into That Which Was and see that moment.”

“Could you, though?”

Roska thought on it. “I suppose I could try, but time moves differently when one uses the Sight. I might be lost to it for a day or a year.”

“Never mind. You have inconvenienced us in that regard already.”

Heat flushed through her face as Roska lifted her chin indignantly. She had not lost consciousness on purpose.

“You have an amulet,” Loki stated. “One that glows white with the Fate rune upon it.”

Roska’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know about – Did the Eir…?” The dampening of the chaos magic around her. The Eir must have used the amulet. He should have known better. That was volatile magic.

“May I see it?”

Reaching beneath her breastplate and tunic, Roska pulled out the amulet. The white glow rippled from its center, and as she glanced down at it, a deep sense of peace settled over her. When she looked up and saw Loki holding out his hand expectantly, she laughed.

“You can see, but not hold this amulet,” Roska explained.

“Why?” Loki asked, squinting and having to glance away from the amulet for a moment.

“Try and take it,” she invited, coming to a halt. When he looked suspicious, Roska held up her hands. “I will not invoke any magicks nor attempt to stop you.”

Loki considered, and then gingerly reached out. When his fingers had nearly touched the amulet, his hand suddenly diverted course, skating over her breastplate. He tried again, brow furrowed in concentration, and again his hand turned aside. Roska knew he could try as many times as he liked, but the result would be the same. Anyone grasping for this particular amulet would find their limb or weapon or whatever they chose to use changing course, though in their mind their reach was true.

Eyes watering and with failure tightening his jaw, Loki dropped his hand and began walking once more. “The amulet is of immense value I take it.”

Roska nodded, having to take several steps to catch up with him. “Every Child has one, and only we can remove our own amulets. But none of us ever would. Well, I am sure a few might have, but they would be renouncing their duty as a Child of Norn.”

“So the amulet ties you to the Norns, is that it?”

“No. Well, in a way. The Norns created it during my Birthing.”

“Is that like a Choosing?”

“No. Well –”

“Roska,” Loki interrupted with a slight strain in his voice that revealed his irritation. “If you are attempting to convince me that you are the Draugr, perhaps start by assuming I know almost nothing about the Children of Norn because as far as I have been aware, they are a tale _for_ children, so I have not bothered myself with becoming educated on them.”

“Um. Right.”

Most people did not believe. She had to stop acting as though Loki was any different. Roska looked down at the amulet, allowing peace to fill her. She would convince him. She simply had to explain herself in full.

“A Birthing is the ceremony during which one becomes a Child of Norn,” Roska elaborated. “During my Birthing, the Norns made this amulet to contain both my memories from before and the aura of chaos magic from such a powerful casting. Then, I was dipped in the waters of Mimir. When I arose, I was the Draugr.”

The explanation made perfect sense to her, but Loki questioned, “What do you mean, ‘contain your memories from before?’”

“Before that day,” replied Roska, gesturing behind her as though to the past. “I do not remember anything prior to being the Draugr.”

Her first memory was of standing before the Norns. Something about their figures spoke of femininity, although they appeared as beings nothing like the Aesir. They looked like no race Roska had ever seen since. Their forms shifted from shape to shape, the only constant the opaqueness of their skin and the sense of immense power radiating from them.

Roska remembered the blankness of her thoughts. A feeling of peace, similar to when she gazed at the amulet of Fate. That amulet had been new and hot around her neck, pressing against the bare skin of her naked chest. The stone floor had felt so cold in comparison. Her toes curled against the chill. One of the Norns had reached out and pushed her backwards and she had fallen, the waters of Mimir wrapping her in a warm embrace and filling her with knowledge.

“How old were you?” Loki asked.

“A young girl.”

From Mimir, she made the journey to Jotunheim. The Winter’s War had nearly been at its end; the Frost Giants driven back to their own realm. Roska had appeared before Odin. He sent his guards away, and she overheard one whispering as he left that her eyes were much too ancient for one so young. He had seemed unnerved when she smiled at him.

“So your parents gave you to the Norns? Or did you not have parents?”

“I cannot recall.”

There had been no snow that day, though the sky was covered in clouds. Roska had stood beside the Frer, who towered over her, and looked to Odin. She knew what he would ask, having looked with her Sight for the first time under the guidance of the Norns. She saw the infant in Odin’s arms.

“Why would you allow anyone to take your memory?”

Roska blinked away her reverie at Loki’s incredulous tone. “The Children of Norn cannot have prior allegiances to people or places. It might cause us to diverge from the path of Fate should we have to make a decision between the right choice and, say, rescuing a loved one.”

“But how do you truly know you serve the Norns?” Loki persisted. “If you allowed strangers to take your memories, you could be following orders from anyone.”

“I do not follow orders from the Norns. I have not spoken to them directly since my Birthing. I follow where the path of Fate points me, as do they.”

“But how do you _know_?”

Roska took a last fond look at the Fate amulet and tucked it away, so the sight of it would not trouble Loki’s eyes. “I have faith.”

Loki snorted. “Faith.”

“You say it like a curse.”

Giving her an indulgent smirk, Loki stated, “Faith is a talisman that fools cling to.”

Roska eyed him with confusion. “You want to become the king of Asgard, correct?”

Loki narrowed his gaze at the perceived change in topic, but he slowly answered, “Yeeees.”

“And you would like me to help you gain the throne?”

“I did not ask for your help,” Loki pointed out quickly, spitting out the word “help” with a similar derision he had ascribed to “faith.”

Roska lifted a placating hand. “Nevertheless, you would prefer that I supported your claim?”

“I would.”

“Then, are you not asking me to have faith in you?”

Loki was silent for a time before begrudgingly admitting, “I suppose I am.”

“And you have my faith,” Roska assured him, once more squashing that tiny niggling sensation of doubt. “Are you calling me a fool for it?”

“You claim you know me, unlike those people you say are the Norns.”

“Yet clearly, you do not believe that I _do_ know you.”

Loki held out his hands as though he were forcing her logic away from him. “That is beside the point.”

“No, my point stands,” Roska countered, growing frustrated. Why did every conversation with Loki have to be so difficult? “Are you saying I am a fool for having faith in you or are you not?”

“If I have given offense –”

“I am not offended. I am asking a question,” snapped Roska.

In a calm voice that somehow irritated her further, Loki accused, “You are twisting my words.”

“No. That is no gift of mine. Yours is the silvertongue.”

“Then perhaps I am not –”

Wood snapped, the crack of it echoing distantly in Roska’s ears. She froze.

“– using it correctly. I am merely pointing –”

“Hush.”

“You think that silencing –”

Roska shifted the casting that muffled their sound so that she could no longer hear Loki. She peered through the dimly lit trees. Had she accidently allowed the casting to falter in her frustration? She did not often hold castings for so long without complete concentration. Or perhaps Loki had made a similar fault in shielding his light.

Indicating the ball of light overhead without turning around, Roska hissed, “Put that out.”

The light flickered, then went dark. Roska strained to hear any further noise. Perhaps it was nothing, a branch falling to the ground or some creature that had not sensed them at all, but was only moving through the Filrar. Roska called forth the book of maps and flipped to the map of the Filrar.

“Where are we?” she asked Loki, wishing she had paid more attention.

Loki drew his finger across the page, circling a blank section. Of course. Roska glanced back in the direction of the sound.

When the book disappeared from her hands, Roska started and quickly yanked it back into one of her pocket dimensions. She looked up at Loki, whose mouth was moving silently. She merged the casting once more so she could hear him.

“What?”

“I said, what did you see?” Loki repeated. “Another of those beasts?”

“It was nothing I saw. I heard a sound,” Roska explained. “And it was most assuredly not a radhogg. They are graceful in the water and air, but if one were lumbering through trees, we would know.” She focused on the forest, yet could neither hear nor see anything but rows and rows of trees fading into blackness. If there was a creature close by, they had best make haste in the opposite direction. “We should go. You may bring back the light, but be sure you are keeping it hidden.”

Roska walked off to their left, changing the course slightly. They would have to make up for the diversion, but it was safer. She fed more energy into her amulet, bolstering her shield in case they were attacked.

Loki fell in step beside her, the blue-white light barely enveloping them from a smaller ball formed just above their heads. “You never did mention why the radhogg ‘wanted’ me.”

“Ask me at a later time. I need to keep my ears open so we are not caught unawares.”

Although he let out a heavy breath through his nose, Loki did not protest.

Roska opened a rift in order to extend the distance between them and the sound more quickly, then another rift and another and another and another and on until they reached a river.

The river was too wide across for one to leap. The water, black as pitch, bubbled as it flowed along. Steam rose from the surface with a deceptively sweet odor. Roska had seen this river on the map, a thin, winding line running through the Filrar. No name accompanied the marking, but that it had been labeled meant that the waters should be approached with caution or, even better, not approached at all.

Roska created a rift to take them across as far as her eyes could see, but something felt wrong about it. Unless the scale or distance of a rift was vast, creating one came as easy to Roska as taking a step forwards. This rift opened like paste being stretched apart, the space before her breaking in thick, ropey strands to reveal trees beyond. And was it just her imagination, or did the already black trees look darker somehow?

“Hold,” Roska instructed, throwing out an arm to prevent Loki from stepping through.

Uneasily, she closed the rift and tried opening a new one to the same effect. Leaving the rift open, Roska grabbed a piece of bark, which flaked off its tree like a scab. She wound her arm back and pitched the bark through the rift, quickly closing it. She stared across the river, listening. No sound of it hitting the ground and no flicker of movement.

“Something is interfering with the rifts?” Loki guessed.

Roska nodded. “We shall have to cross another way.”

She could attempt to freeze the river, but did not like the thought of stepping on it without knowing what lay beneath. Roska tilted her head up to the trees. The limbs were too far apart to leap across. She could make them bend together to form a bridge, but the movement would send enough vibrations through the ground to alert every creature in the Filrar as to their whereabouts. A different sort of bridge then.

“I’m going to use the air to help us cross. Step on my signal.” Roska shifted to align herself with Loki. “Right first.”

Roska lifted her right foot, and Loki did the same. She pulled the air beneath their feet, forming a step. Up they climbed, step by step rising from the ground. The ascent required some adjustment, as the length of their legs was decidedly different, but by the time they crossed above the closest riverbank, Roska thought she had found a compromise.

The sweet scent thickened as they walked over the river, steam curling around them and beckoning them to drink. The closer they got to the center, the more overpowering the smell became until it lost its appeal. Roska nearly gagged on it, eyes watering, and Loki’s jaw clenched in disgust. She manipulated the air more rapidly, speeding up their pace.

While the scent lessened, however, it still seemed stronger on the opposite side of the river that it had on the other bank. At least it was no longer unpleasant when they stepped off the last gust of air. Roska sniffed the sleeve of her tunic as they walked, wondering if the smell had seeped into their garments.

“I haven’t the faintest idea why this forest has such horrific tales told about it,” Loki noted. “Some roots, a distant noise, and a scented river. This place was meant to have monsters behind every tree. Instead, it is proving to be an even greater bore than Vanaheim.”

“You find Vanaheim tiresome?” Roska asked.

“Nothing but pastures as far as the eye can see,” said Loki with disgust more befitting of one describing Hel. “And the Vanir are the worst of it. It takes them forever to get out a single sentence, and yet you will have learned nothing more by the end of it. And yet, they somehow – somehow think themselves our betters.”

The break in his speech would have alerted Roska had she not already spotted the footprints. There were two, made by boots from the look of them. Someone had stood here facing the river. The being had to be bipedal, and larger than her from the size of the prints. She followed their trail, for there were several more prints, but only in spots, as though the dirt there were particularly wet, making for well defined outlines. As no breeze disturbed the ground, there was no telling how long they had been there. Roska looked behind her in either direction, but the being did not appear to have turned. Since there had been no prints on the other side of the river, either the being had lifted from the ground or been taken in by the sweetness of the black water.

Roska realized with concern that she had not been paying attention to whether Loki had been leaving footprints, which would make tracking them quite easy.

“Have you noticed leaving any prints?” she queried. “Even if you haven’t, perhaps it would be best if you… take…precautions…”

Loki had skirted around the disturbance in the soil, leaving an identical set of footprints. He stared at them, a slow grin spreading across his lips.

“Finally. Something of interest.”

Roska did not share his enthusiasm at this turn of events. “But we crossed the river. Those cannot be yours. Right?” She surveyed the trees around her. Was the bark on the trees darker than before, as it had appeared in the rift? It seemed to match the trees on the opposite bank of the river.

“Of course they are not mine,” Loki scoffed. “Do you imagine I would not think to cover any trace I left behind? I might like to see something other than trees, but I do not wish to call every creature in the Filrar down on us at once.”

The relief Roska felt was fleeting. “So how did the prints get here?”

“That is a better question.” Loki crouched down, running two fingers through the original set of footprints and rubbing the dirt between his fingers. “And why are your prints not beside them?”

Roska tapped a heel of one boot against the side of the other. “My boots are refitted from a previous Draugr. The soles never quite touch the ground.”

“Hm. So whatever is doing this is not blocking all magics. Either it can sense me standing over it or it is blocking my one particular casting.”

“You think this thing is under the ground?” Roska readied herself to pull them both up into the air again.

“Possibly. These tracks are not a simple illusion; that much I can say.” Loki stood up, looking back over his shoulder. “But did we cross the river or did we not?”

Roska shifted her weight uncertainly from foot to foot, debating whether the best course would be to keep going or retreat back over the river and try crossing again in a different place. The thought of wading through the sweet steam for a second time made her stomach turn. Her eyes flicked to the curling steam rising over the river.

“Do you think there was something in the steam that is tricking our senses?”

Loki tipped his head in acknowledgement. “The thought had occurred.” On instinct, Roska reached for her pouch of rune stones to find an answer, but he continued. “I think we should press on. It seems most likely that something is trying to turn us back around towards the river.”

Attempting to ask the rune stones still seemed like a better idea to Roska. She did not like venturing into such a decision without a definite, true path. Loki walked away without waiting as she dithered, tugging on the strings of her pouch.

The rune stones were not likely to give her an answer, Roska decided. And this was a chance for Loki to prove that he could make a sound decision.

Roska took several hurried steps to catch up with Loki’s stride, but came up short as something behind her made a noise. It sounded like the discarded innards of an animal falling on a butcher’s floor, a wet _thwap_ of gristle and meat hitting a much harder surface. Roska whirled around.

A creature had pulled itself up onto the bank of the river. It had a body not unlike a slug, long and thick, but with arms poking out of its sides to drag itself forwards. Its skin wept constantly, streaking the dirt with globs of a black pus-like substance. It blinked several sets of large eyes, the lids smearing its weeping skin across the shiny irises. A wet popping sound emitted from a gaping mouth filled with teeth as thin and sharp as needles.

 _Thwap_. Another of the creatures pulled itself out from the river. Roska took a step away. Black oozed up from the sets of footprints, a third creature rising from the ground. She shifted her foot back and felt it knock into Loki. Glancing behind her, she saw that more creatures had appeared, surrounding them.

How did these things know she and Loki were here? These creatures should not be able to see nor hear them. Unless the creatures were figments of her imagination created by the steam, but Roska meant to treat them as real unless proven otherwise.

Loki created several illusions, packing the area they were in. The creatures crawled right through the illusions without noticing.

Roska rubbed her hands together, thinking. One of the creatures had come up through the footprints, which it must have created. To make those footprints, it must have known the exact dimensions of Loki’s boot. In order to do so, it would need to get a print, presumably from the ground. Or from under it.

The creatures could somehow sense pressure through the ground.

Roska called together a gust of wind and jettisoned herself and Loki upwards towards the thickest tree branch she could spot at a glance. Although she landed them gently, the branch was not as sturdy as it appeared and snapped at their weight. She managed to manipulate the air to cushion their landing. She rolled, narrowly avoiding one of the creatures and got to her feet.

With a swipe of one hand, Roska opened a rift, but it still had a strange quality about it, and the trees beyond looked even darker than before. She waved it shut and gasped in surprise as a tendril wrapped around her foot. The creature must have guessed where she stood from when she hit the ground.

The air thrummed with magic as Loki shot several bolts at the creatures that seemed to be multiplying at an alarming rate. They flinched at the impact, but where the magic tore at them, the creatures reformed, ooze sealing the gaps. He shot ice at another. However, the frozen half broke off and the creature kept coming.

Roska lifted them both off the ground, deciding to use the same trick as the bridge but creating a flat surface.

“Come on!” she yelled, and took off running.

Trees rushed by as Roska sprinted, dodging branches, knowing Loki was behind her by the faint glow of the light he held above them. She pushed herself as fast as she could run, all the while testing small rifts, waiting for them to become easy again.

The trees were thinning ahead of them. And black shapes crawled there, steam rising behind them from a river. Roska could hardly believe what she was seeing.

“Roska.”

“What?”

Loki grabbed her arm, nearly yanking it from its socket as Roska came to an unexpected halt. He turned her around. The river lay behind them; the creatures closed in. She looked between the rivers.

“There are two of them,” Loki noted.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Unless there are not.”

Roska shot him a look of annoyance. “Do you have any observations that are actually useful?”

With a smile that reflected how much Loki was enjoying himself, he said, “Those beasts are almost upon us.”

“So the answer is ‘no,’” Roska grumbled. She activated her shield as Loki stretched combat magic into a spear of white light.

There must be a way out of this situation. Two rivers, at least a hundred of those black, oozing creatures. Roska spotted a piece of bark on the ground nearby to her foot, its shape familiar. It was the bark she had thrown. They must have crossed over into a different place. But how? And where? She jerked her head back and forth, the scenes before her reflecting each other. Identical. An idea lit in her mind. She touched Loki’s arm.

“They mirror each other, yes? The two rivers.”

Loki’s brow creased as he glanced at both, but then smoothed. When he met her gaze, Roska knew that he had the same idea.

“But you cannot open a rift to get us out?” he questioned.

“No. Something created too many mirror dimensions within one another. Whenever I attempt to open a rift, it opens onto another mirror dimension.”

“Then how are we getting out?”

“I am going to shatter the mirror dimensions.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “All of them?”

Roska nodded. “Just keep those creatures away from me while I work the casting.”

“I will hold off these beasts myself then.” Loki flicked his wrist, the spear of light in his hand widening. Under his breath, he muttered, “All two hundred of them,” but he was smiling.

Loki leapt over one of the creatures, digging his spear into the ground and ripping the creature up from the soil. It let out a bubbling whine as Loki threw a second spear past Roska.

Another whine rose up behind her, but Roska closed her eyes. She extended her consciousness, feeling for the edges of the mirror dimension. The shape formed around her, slanted with sharp edges and smooth, refracting walls. She drew on light energy to weave a casting that ran along the surfaces of the dimension.

Pressure formed on a part of her shield, but however many creatures had run into it were quickly batted aside by Loki so her concentration remained unbroken.

Roska tested the casting, making sure she could sense every hard wall of the dimension, the writhing shapes of the creatures, and the reverberations of Loki as he darted around her. She was certain she had covered the entirety of this place, and if shattered correctly, the other mirror dimensions should also break, no matter how deep she currently was. Roska pulled her fists to her chest, the casting contracting ever so slightly.

Infusing energy into every thread of the casting, Roska threw her hands outwards, pressing a force hard against the walls of the mirror dimension. She opened her eyes as the world seemed to fracture. Translucent pieces fell and crumbled into nothing, leaving the same scene behind, only a touch lighter.

The creatures squealed in confusion and retreated towards the river or sank into the ground.

Loki shot a few bolts after them for good measure. He was splattered with the creatures’ wet skin, large globs of the black pus rolling down his garments. The last of the combat magic flickered out in his hands.

“Well. That was exhilarating,” Loki said with a satisfaction that was tempered as he glanced at his sleeve. “But perhaps you could show me how that bathing brush works now.”

“As soon as we have put distance between us and this river,” Roska replied. This time when she opened a rift, the fabric of Niflheim tore with ease and did not show any sign of a darker place beyond.

Roska took them several leagues before allowing them to rest. She explained to Loki how to use the bathing brush and held out a hand for his travel cloak. His tunic and breeches might be stained and reeking beyond her ability to fix at present, but she would attempt to make the best of his cloak as she had not packed a spare. And she doubted very much that Loki had ever needed to bother with maintaining his garments. As expected, Loki tossed the cloak at her as one might a servant and promptly vanished.

Settling against a tree, Roska examined the cloak. The thick fabric still had rips in it from the living trees. Loki must have been covering them with an illusion. Any tears she fixed with a simple casting that bound the broken threads back together. As for the stains, the best she could think to do was use her bathing brush.

After minutes of silence, Loki’s voice cut through the air from somewhere off to her left. “Do you have any idea what those beasts were?”

“None,” Roska admitted.

“Do you think they were seeking me specifically as the radhogg was?”

“Doubtful, but not impossible. Chaos magic creates an aura around a person, such as you currently have. Certain beings like the radhogg can sense it and will be drawn to you. But the effect will fade in time.”

Loki seemed to ponder this information. “How much time?”

“It is difficult to say with precision.” Roska scrubbed hard at a particularly stubborn patch of ooze. “Depends on the power of the casting, and I do not have much experience using chaos magic. But based on my experience with the casting that permanently holds the illusion of you being one of the Aesir, I would say at least a few years.”

They continued cleaning with only the gentle swish of bristles against fabric and skin until Loki ventured, “When you were… That is, on that day…”

Roska waited for him to continue, but when he did not finish the question, she prompted, “Yes?”

“Never mind,” said Loki, his voice sounding harsher than it had before.

The reasoning for his change in mood was not hard to guess at. Roska knew that he had been quite upset by the revelation of his birthright. She had not been pleased with how Odin handled the situation.

When she and the Frer had agreed to use the necessary chaos magic to hold the change of Loki’s appearance, it had been understood that Odin would one day explain to Loki who he was and how he could stabilize Jotunhiem. However, Roska had been under the impression this would be revealed at a much younger age before Loki had lived through years upon years of Frost Giants being talked about like wraiths who would steal children away in their sleep. She had tried to warn Odin that if he followed on this course, a cloud of chaos would obscure Loki’s future. Odin would not hear of it, and Roska could not divert the course of Fate directly by speaking with Loki herself.

Until now, when she was shaping Fate’s path. Roska was sure that the cloud obscuring Loki had been due to Thanos, but she hoped he had passed from that influence. Perhaps she could undo some of the damage.

“Are you certain you have no questions for me?” Roska asked gently. “I can recount what happened if you would like.”

“Never mind, I said.”

“I know you never got answers from your father.”

“I have no father!” Loki snapped.

Roska winced. She must remember not to speak that word for this was his second outburst over its use.

“I only want you to understand there is no shame in being one of the Jotuns.”

Loki appeared suddenly, half clothed and glaring at her, his pale cheeks flushed an angry red. “And I want you to understand that I have no wish to speak on the matter further. Did you leave your wits in the mirror dimension? Because I cannot possibly make that any clearer.”

Roska scowled back at him. A voice was telling her to be patient, but she had never been insulted and did not take kindly to it. “There is no need to be rude to me when I am offering you freely information that you wanted.”

“I did not ask for anything from you.”

“But I _want_ to help.”

“I do not need your help,” Loki snorted, mouth curling like he had tasted spoiled milk.

Roska folded her arms. “Really? Would you have made it out of those mirror dimensions by yourself, then?”

“I would have found a way.”

“How?”

“Well, it does not matter now, does it?” Loki said with a shrug. “Since you did your little trick.”

As though the casting was not powerful enough that Loki should already be convinced she was the Draugr, and therefore accord her more respect. Roska stood up in disbelief that he could be so ungrateful.

“Here.” Roska tossed his cloak at him. “You can clean the rest yourself. I am no servant.”

“Obviously. You would make a terrible servant.” Loki shook his cloak as he inspected it, the fabric flapping heavily. “You cannot even properly clean a travel cloak.”

Clenching her fists in a fury, Roska ground out, “I think it best we continue on.” She turned on her heel, but glanced back sharply to add. “In silence.”

Loki gave her an infuriating smile. “Fine by me.”

Roska stamped off, presuming Loki would follow her. He needed her help. He did. And he should learn who could be treated with the arrogance of a king and who was his equal. By the time they reached Rijd’s Valley, he would know that she deserved to be treated with the same respect she offered him. Or else… Her stomach fluttered nervously. Or else she might have to make a different choice.

No. Loki would change his mind. Roska nodded to herself. She was going to make him see. Somehow, once he stopped being unreasonable. She snorted. That had better not take too long.


	6. Fimm

The Filrar was, as usual, utterly silent when Loki woke. It had been like this all through what must be at least half a month, if not more – the never-changing light made it difficult to distinguish one day from the next. Occasionally there would be some noise as a beast came into view or a danger tried to ensnare him, such as when he had sat on a rock which, with a mighty crack, spilt open and attempted to drag him down with hundreds of tiny arm-like appendages. The silence of the forest was beginning to drive him mad, although it would be significantly more tolerable if not for his mute companion.

Roska had not spoken a single word to him since their argument. If not for how mind-numbingly bored he had become, Loki might have been impressed with how they managed to communicate without speaking, gesturing, or doing much of anything to indicate their intentions.

At first, Loki had not minded. He was used to his own company, and amused himself by picturing a future in which their venture had been successful and he sat on the throne. He thought on how he might convince Asgard to accept him as their king. He supposed he could pose as the All-Father, but his mother would surely notice. If he felt a slight, but frustrating pang of emotion when he pictured stabbing the Fang of Fenrir into Odin, he felt something much stronger when he imagined Frigga’s reaction to his death. Thus, Loki tried not to dwell on her too much and focused instead on the planning of it all.

When no solution presented itself, Loki grew bored. The monotony of the scenery certainly was not helping. Even the ever-present possibility of danger was not enough, for through the book of maps, they were able to avoid most of the excitement. Roska remained stubbornly silent, and if she was determined to play this game, he refused to lose it by speaking.

Eventually, Loki began regretting his stance on the matter. He should never have been so short with her in the first place. Not because he was in the wrong, but because he should have had more control over his anger. Then, he would not be trekking along with only the occasional snap of a branch cutting through the thick silence in the air.

Loki did _want_ to talk to Roska. He liked having someone around to have conversations with, or more specifically debates. He was quite adept at winning debates, and he enjoyed how it felt knowing he had the superior mind.

In fact, Loki had had an idea to that end. Once he found out more about Roska’s position as the “Draugr” and what she knew of the “Norns” that appointed her, perhaps he could use a persuasive argument to win her loyalty away from them. That she had not fainted from the casting used to shatter the mirror dimensions proved she could wield powerful, complex magics without an irksome side effect. Therefore, she could be of use to him at a later time. Even if he could not win her over, he found satisfaction in the idea of picking apart the blind faith Roska had put in these beings – if she was telling him the truth of all this, of which he was still not convinced.

But first he had to get Roska speaking to him again.

Loki made a few subtle attempts to achieve that goal. When Roska conjured the book of maps, he held out a hand for it. She gave him the book without comment and waited, staring at him. This was not unusual; Roska frequently stared at him with an openness that made him have to bite back remarks on many an occasion in an effort to win this mute contest they were engaged in. Eventually, he got tired of waiting her out and started walking again. He tried to tuck the book into his pocket dimension, but Roska jerked it away – a trick that he very much would like to learn. Next, he tried diverting their path. Roska frowned, checked the book, and abruptly a rift formed in front of him to take them in the correct direction.

Frustration mounting, when they came across a beast nearly as tall as the trees and covered in spines, Loki attacked it without allowing Roska the time to open a rift to take them away. Before he had the opportunity to properly engage the beast, the ground swallowed it as if the dirt had turned to water. Loki turned around as Roska made the ground solid once more. She looked him over and then opened up a rift.

Loki was furious. After seething for a while, he dropped the magic that made him visible to her. He had forgotten to hold it a couple of times, at which point Roska’s glancing around would remind him to pick the casting back up. But if she was so intent on not speaking to him, Loki decided that he may as well not even put in the effort. He released the light he held above them as well. Perhaps Roska would think he had abandoned her that way.

Roska did not notice initially. She had a far-off expression on her face, her brow creased in thought. One of her amulets, a threaded piece of beaconstone glowed brightly enough to replace his ball of light, but she did not seem to notice activating it.

Loki kept pace with her, vexing though it was to shorten his strides. So far, Roska had made an effort to quicken her step in order to remain beside him. But when she lost focus, she slowed, which added to the list of small things about her that were beginning to irritate him.

Finally, Roska looked to her left where he was supposed to be and started when she found the space apparently vacant. When he did not reappear, she stopped walking and spun around in the direction from whence they had come.

“Loki?” Roska called, nerves pitching her voice higher.

There it was. At last. Loki could not believe he had not thought of this trick sooner.

Roska took a step. Panic was rapidly flooding her features. Her eyes widened. Her breath hitched.

“Loki?”

For a couple of moments, Loki smugly watched Roska pace about, working herself into a frenzy. She ripped the pouch of rune stones off of her belt and dropped to her knees, chanting so fast that if she spoke individual words, he could not parse them out. She threw the stones. Every single one landed with the smooth side up. Roska looked at them like mother might her dead child. Loki barely contained his laughter. She scooped them into her palm and tried again; her face twisted in grief at the same result. She pressed her hands to her face, back curving like she was about to fold in on herself. If she were in communication with someone, now would be the time to call on them, but Roska did no such thing. She just sat there.

Her head snapped up suddenly. With a desperate look, Roska turned her palms outward. The air shimmered all around them and grew warm, and the faint light increased.

Not wanted her to waste energy unnecessarily, Loki spoke up. “Not looking for me, are you?” he asked, and made himself visible.

Never had anyone looked so relieved to see him. Roska leapt to her feet and rushed over, moving closer than was necessary, but Loki too amused by her reaction of bouncing around him like a pup to step away.

“Yes. I was,” Roska replied. “Are you all right? What happened? Why were you not answering me?”

Loki gave her a purposely confused look. “Answer? You told me you wanted to continue ‘in silence.’ Those were your exact words.”

Roska blinked. “That was weeks ago.”

“I am aware.”

“But…” Roska let out a huff of frustration. “Will you please answer when I call?”

“Of course.” Loki smiled. “Whatever you wish.”

Once Roska had picked up her rune stones, they resumed walking. Loki felt much better, while Roska looked like she was thinking hard.

“Have you really not been speaking to me because of what I said?” Roska queried.

It was on the tip of his tongue to confirm her speculation, but the words caught. Loki had a sinking realization.

“Why did _you_ not speak to _me_?”

Roska shrugged. “It did not seem necessary.”

And that easily, Loki’s good mood evaporated like water left out in the suns. He had kept his mouth shut, stewing in boredom and frustration for no reason at all. There had never been any game. This was not a competition he had won. He had misread the situation and, as a result, acted like a foolish child.

“You are angry with me,” Roska noted.

“No,” said Loki, keeping the irritation from his expression.

Yet, Roska confided with a sigh, “I would prefer it if we were truthful with each other.”

“As would I.” Although Loki just wanted Roska to be truthful with him. He believed that meting out the truth was only good if it was useful.

“Then, perhaps we could start now.”

“Very well. You first.”

“I…” Roska gave him an uncertain look. “My silence, it was not intended to be a slight. At first, I was frustrated about our argument yes, but the rest was habit. I do not often have reason to converse with anyone. Then, you seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated, but I thought if I asked, you would merely avoid my questions or have another…” She flapped her hands in the air. “… outburst.”

“I see.”

Her answer was very candid. Loki could not see any fault in it. Between the invisibility, her long stares, and her lack of spatial awareness, it was not hard to believe Roska rarely interacted with other people. And it was true that he had not been as charming towards her as he could usually be. He was rarely called out for dodging lines of inquiry by anyone except his mother and Odin.

“So are you angry with me?” Roska asked again. “Perhaps you find me vexing?”

Loki glanced at her. “Is that the impression I have given you?”

“Possibly. You seemed angry, and since I am the only person accompanying you, it is probable that I am the cause. But I am not certain. I am not sure what anyone would think of me. Perhaps I am vexing.” Roska considered him. “You can be sometimes.”

At that pronouncement, coupled with her frank expression, Loki had to chuckle. “So I’ve been told.”

Roska nodded. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You cannot avoid my questions forever,” Roska stated with exasperation. “Are you angry with me?”

Loki thought on the question but, “No.”

Perhaps slightly, but Loki was more irate with himself for not handling Roska with greater tact from the start. Had he not let his feelings about his past cloud his judgment, he would be on much better terms with her. He could have gathered more information, garnered a clearer idea of her potential uses, and possibly gleaned a potential motive of the “Norns” or Roska herself.

“That is the truth,” Loki assured Roska when she eyed him skeptically. “I am angry with myself. I fear I have not treated you fairly thus far on our journey. I wish to remedy that.”

Roska looked taken aback. “You do?”

“Yes. Allow me to apologize for my ‘outbursts.’ They were uncalled for. I shall endeavor to be more respectful going forward.”

Roska’s face lit with a smile. Before Loki could congratulate himself on bolstering her image of him, her smile shrank to a much smaller one.

“You do mean it?”

Loki choked back a comment about how it was rude to question an apology. “Of course.”

“I only ask because I have heard you make apologies before, only to mock someone behind their back.”

How often had Roska spied on him? While Loki had done his fair share of sneaking about, he did not like the idea of being followed by someone else.

“Is this a pastime of yours, following me around? I am flattered.”

“I would not call it a pastime,” Roska contradicted. “The royal family of Asgard is integral to the course of Fate. It seemed fitting to keep an eye on the four of you.”

“So you have tailed Odin as well?” Loki mused. That could be useful to them later if she knew his habits. “And here I thought you had taken a special interest in me.”

Roska stiffened. “The Draugr cannot be partial to any one person. If I have spent more time with you, it was only because of…” Her gaze flicked to him briefly as she searched for words. “… that day. I wanted to be sure there would not be any unforeseen consequences.”

“Ah.” Questions crowded Loki’s mouth, about that day on Jotunheim and the choice that had been made. However, the idea of asking made him feel uncommonly vulnerable, which in turn made him furious, so he asked nothing. “Well, I hope you have found me to be amusing.”

“On occasion, I suppose. You do –” Roska pressed her lips closed. She rubbed the fingers of her right hand together, her eyes downcast.

“What?” Loki prompted.

With clear reluctance, Roska said, “You do choose interesting books to read.”

Not the answer Loki was expecting, and he hardly thought the admission garnered embarrassment. “You borrow them from my chambers?”

“No. I might finish one while you are away if it has very much intrigued me. Usually though, I will read alongside you. When you read on the rug by the fire, I can rest against the wall there and see your book. I do prefer the guest chambers, though. You know the ones I mean, towards the top of the High Spire?”

Loki nodded. If he were reading in his chambers, there was always a chance that a guard or someone could interrupt him. True, he could make himself invisible, but if it were considered a matter of importance, his mother was never so easily fooled. When he wished not to be disturbed, Loki had discovered that the corridors of the High Spire were rarely patrolled by guards. The guest chambers Roska spoke of were not often used and had a particularly comfortable chair that he had moved beside a window so that the light from the suns could illuminate the pages of whatever book he was immersed in at the time. No one had ever discovered him there. Except Roska, it seemed.

“I used to lean up against the wall behind you and read over your shoulder,” Roska continued, mimicking the action as she walked. “But with the winds outside, the walls can hold a chill. So eventually, I decided to try sitting on an armrest, once I was certain you never used them. I found it to be much more pleasant than the wall.”

“I suppose it would be.”

To think he had sat there with Roska a hand’s breadth from him and had never known or noticed any change in the air. Loki did not like the invasion of his privacy, but as far as what Roska could have been watching him do, reading was relatively harmless. And she would not have even been watching him, but rather looking at the books. He pictured sitting in that chair with Roska perched beside him, reading the book with that rapt stare of hers. Somehow it seemed fitting. Roska had already proven she could remain quiet for hours on end.

“I have to confess, when you said you were ‘keeping an eye’ on me, that is not what I had in mind,” said Loki.

Roska turned her palms upward. “It depends on the day, and it is not as if I am at Hlidskialf all the time.”

“So do you make it a point to visit on any particular occasions?”

“If there is talk of a battle or a grand announcement being made, I am often there. Why? Is there an occasion you are thinking of?”

“Merely curious.” Loki was wondering what precisely she might have seen. He had scoffed at Roska back on Midgard when she intimated that she knew him, but depending on when she had been around him, there might be some truth to her pronouncement. “If we are to be travel companions in the coming months, we may as well become more familiar with each other. I wondered whether you might enjoy watching the festivities around the Feast of the Einherjar. Or maybe you just enjoy accompanying me to the baths.”

Roska gave him a strange look. “Why would I enjoy that?”

“I have been told the sight is quite pleasing,” Loki remarked with a flash of a grin.

“Someone told you they like looking at the baths?” Roska shook her head in wonder. “People never cease to surprise me.”

Her complete ignorance of his flirtations was nearly as amusing as a flustered response might have been or else he would not have continued with them.

“Yes, they are an endless source of entertainment,” Loki agreed. This journey was already becoming infinitely more entertaining now that there was no longer a dreary silence hanging between them, and he thought Roska might prove to be just as amusing as he had anticipated.

* * *

True to his word, Loki acted much more civil towards her as they made their way through the Filrar. Roska was not sure whether he had actually decided that she deserved to be treated as an equal or if he was putting on a show, but she hoped for the former. Besides, his civility was preferable to the alternative.

The one thing Roska did miss however was the silence. Once Loki began talking to her, it seemed like he never stopped. Initially, Roska did not mind as talking passed the time. But since she spoke so little in her daily life, her throat soon grew sore. And Loki asked so many questions. Roska answered them, of course. She wanted to convince him that she was the Draugr, which was the focal point of many of his queries, as were the Norns.

“What did they sound like?” Loki asked as they skirted around a grove of trees that had been marked on the map with tiny circles indicating a deadly kind of bird that lived in the higher branches.

Roska replied, “Their voices changed constantly, just like their forms.”

“But you could tell them apart?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

It was impossible for Roska to describe exactly how she had known. Wyrd had not sounded like an aged hag, Verdandi a middle aged woman, nor Skuld a newborn babe. Nothing so simple. Each of the Norns had simply given her a distinct feeling.

“I just knew,” Roska stated. “Perhaps all Children just know.”

Loki blew an impatient breath out of his nose. In the distance, Roska heard a branch snap. She shushed him so that she could listen, but he did not quiet for long.

 A week or more later, after they had escaped from a maze of paradoxically frigid gouts of flame which left them too exhausted to open any more rifts, Loki asked, “So where is it you live? Is it the same place that all previous Draugrs have resided?”

Roska nodded. The residence of the Draugr had been carved into one of the mountains on the outermost edge of Asgard. In fact, if one stepped out of the entrance without using the proper magic, they would fall off the edge of the realm and plummet downwards until the vacuum of space took hold.

The rooms were full of relics from her predecessors. Roska had organized them as she saw fit, and as many Draugrs undoubtedly had before her. Most of the amulets hung around her neck – as she was very fond of amulets both aesthetically and for their usefulness – and the boots on her feet were also borrowed. There was armor in the rooms, and books, and weapons, collections of precious stones, dried herbs, and items of which Roska did not even know their use. For example, arrayed along one shelf were an entire collection of handmirrors, none of which seemed to be of any special use. Perhaps one of the Draugrs had simply been fond of handmirrors.

Herself, Roska immensely enjoyed weaving. She had watched a master weaver for years, constantly making trips to his home to see him work and listen to him speak on it passionately to his apprentice. She had picked out wool, a spinning wheel, dyes, and a loom to work on. She followed his teaching rigorously until she grew adept at the task, and then infused magic to try new techniques. Once she was confident enough, she had repaired a very old tapestry in one of her rooms and created many more. A tapestry depicting stars circling down into a whirlpool lay half finished in her weaving room, and Roska thought of it with wistfulness.

“Roska.” Loki’s voice interrupted her daydream of sifting through her basket of threads for the right color to match the foam of a whirlpool. “Where is it exactly?”

Roska grimaced and touched her sleeve, repairing a patch of cloth that the cold fire had singed. “The location is only for me to know.”

“That hardly seems fair,” complained Loki. “You know where I reside.”

“Hlidskialf is the largest construct on Asgard and is right in the center of the entire realm. I would not even need to consult the runes to know where to find you. Besides, where else would I go for amusement?”

Loki’s eyebrows rose. “That almost sounded like a jest.”

“I am capable of humor. On occasion,” Roska agreed with a tired smile that Loki matched.

When Roska’s voice grew too strained or her answers became short due to her weariness of the never-ending questions, Loki seemed perfectly happy to carry on the conversation himself. He spoke at length on the Norns, weaving together theories based on the information she had imparted or attempting to poke holes in what she had told him.

Roska would give him this. His arguments did have a persuasive logic to them. She could find faults on occasion, which she pointed out, but overall she could not definitely denounce him. It was _possible_ she was snatched as a child against her will due to other beings finding her power with magics useful. It was _possible_ that these beings could wield the chaos magic to erase her memory. It was _possible_ that they had their own agenda. It was _possible_ she had lived her entire life under false pretences. It was _possible_. But Roska did not believe it for many reasons.

For starters, if she had been duped, then so had Odin and every other ruler of Asgard before him. Also, she served Fate, not the Norns – which Roska reminded Loki of several times – and she could see the course of Fate using the Sight, which could not be altered. She had records in her possession from Draugrs dating back almost to the beginning of the Nine Realms, so if she was being tricked, either no one had discovered the trickery in all that time or the records were very elaborate forgeries. And finally, but most importantly, Roska knew down to her core that her life was not a lie. She had been chosen by Fate and appointed by the Norns for a purpose. She had dedicated herself to that purpose. She would have no doubts. Not now. Not ever. She walked a true course.

Loki never sounded impressed by any of those assertions, especially not the last one.

“Everyone has doubts,” he stated on one occasion. “If they are wise enough not to blindly trust in others.”

As it had been a particularly trying day, Roska snapped, “Would you like me to start doubting whether or not you should be king?”

That had shut Loki up for a few blessedly quiet minutes, although Roska’s belly roiled uncomfortably at the remark that had leapt so easily from her lips. She was not having doubts. She was just weary.

They made camp whenever one or both of them could push no farther. A particularly broad tree or stone would be chosen after being thoroughly tramped around and prodded to be certain it did not have any sinister reflexes. They would lay out their bedrolls pressed up against that tree or stone so they were not likely to have any creatures running into them.

A bit of food and drink was consumed. Roska had been concerned that Loki might eat through his share too quickly as he had been able to have as much as he wanted whenever he desired on Asgard, but he ate surprisingly little.

If her armor needed to be cleaned, Roska did so. She had two small canisters in her pack, a scrub made of various sands mixed with animal fat as well as a polishing mixture of herbs and oils, as well as two cloths. She sat on her bedroll, legs crossed, and gently rubbed the metal until it gleamed an inky black.

While Loki only called forth his armor if they happened to stumble into a fraught situation, it did lose its luster and get splattered with debris. Finally, he gathered his armor in front of him. He opened his mouth, and Roska thought in the pause that he was going to ask that she clean his armor for him, but Loki seemed to think better of it and instead asked to borrow her supplies. Roska tore her cloths in two and set the canisters between their bedrolls. As they worked, Roska noticed Loki kept watching her out of the corner of his eye, his movements less certain than usual. She realized he had no more knowledge of cleaning armor than he did his stained travel cloak. Lifting his helm from his lap, Roska showed him the best methods for cleaning the individual pieces. Loki did not thank her, but he did follow her instruction, and she supposed that counted more. At least it meant he was willing to listen to sound advice.

In addition to cleaning their armor, they might use the bathing brushes. Since she paid little attention to bodily cleanliness, Roska took Loki’s cue for the necessary frequency. She did find her skin felt more pleasant afterwards. The air of Niflheim had a thick quality to it that seemed to coat any exposed flesh in a toxic layer too fine to be seen even with her sharp eyesight, but fortunately the Alfheim-made brushes rubbed it away.

Loki created a shield around their camp that would hold off most anything and rouse him upon being hit regardless, and then they slept. Usually Roska was so tired that she dropped off at once, so it took almost the entirety of their journey through the Filrar to realize that Loki was not falling asleep until after her. There was a quality to his breathing that changed when he was asleep, subtle but, since they slept relatively close to one another, noticeable. She wondered if it was because he did not trust her. Maybe he was sitting there, waiting to be sure she sounded asleep. But before Roska could ask, she discovered something further that brought that theory into question.

Sleeping on the ground was not particularly comfortable, it was true, but Loki seemed to be having a particularly rough time of it. He shifted about constantly, the fabric of his bedroll releasing a quiet _swish_ of fabric rubbing together as he twisted about. His breathing took on a labored quality like he was sprinting instead of sleeping.

Roska awoke one morning – or afternoon, there was no reliable way to tell – to a groan, sitting upright in a panic that he had been attacked. She rolled over and saw nothing. Loki was still invisible. She could hear his breath coming in rough pants and the _swish_ of his bedroll moving. The noise seemed to be coming from exactly where she remembered Loki being previously, so Roska reached out her hand. She connected with Loki’s upper arm.

“Loki,” Roska said, giving his arm a light shake. She hoped nothing venomous had bitten him in his sleep. There were healing stones in her pack, but poison could be fast acting. “Loki, can you hear me?”

His arm tensed beneath her fingers and jerked away, followed by a gasp.

When she did not hear anything further after a moment, Roska again spoke. “Loki?”

“What?” Loki replied. He sounded strangely relieved.

“Are you well?” Roska questioned.

“Of course I am. Why would I not be?”

“You were groaning in your sleep.”

Loki sniffed. “Just this hard ground making my back ache. You could have picked thicker bedrolls. It is a wonder I can sleep at all.”

Annoyance pulsed at the back of Roska’s skull, but she was still concerned. “Will you at least make yourself visible so I can see that you are all right?”

With a sigh, Loki did. His hair was mussed up, long strands sticking out every which way, and the skin beneath his eyes had a slight purple bruising, but he did appear unharmed.

They got up, pulled on the garments they had taken off to sleep, and left their camp. But Roska did not forget what happened. First, because she noticed that the purple bruising under Loki’s eyes mysteriously disappeared and second, because she had the feeling this was not a singular incident. She needed to know if there was more to this fit because if something had Loki troubled, that could also mean trouble for her.

Wanting to be sure before she confronted Loki about it, Roska decided to stay up the next time they made camp. They went through their routines while Loki questioned her about what she knew of the other Children – it had not escaped her that he had yet to mention the Frer. Roska let go of the casting that made her visible to him and waited. And waited. And waited. But Loki did not sleep. Eventually, Roska fell asleep, much to her annoyance, and Loki was already awake the following morning.

So she tried the following time they made camp. Roska surmised that Loki was able to tell she was awake because, as with him, her breathing sounded different as she slept. So Roska lifted her astral form from her body, which meant her consciousness would remain awake while her body slept. She had always found the sensation of astral projecting uncomfortable, so she did it rarely, but the trick worked. Once Loki’s breathing changed, she lowered her astral form back into her body. She sat up in determination and waited.

Time passed. Roska kept pinching the inside of her arm to keep herself awake. She turned her head at the snap of a branch off in the distance, but regained her focus when there were no further sounds. Her head drooped, and she jerked it up again. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe Loki really was just having difficulty sleeping on the hard dirt. And it was not as if the Filrar were the safest place to sleep. He might be worrying on an unconscious level.

But finally, her waiting paid off. Loki’s breath quickened. His bedroll swished as he shifted within it. Roska lifted her hands, concentrating a small portion of energy. The air shimmered and heated. The light filtering through the trees bent and intensified. The effect was not enough to be blinding, but rather, the light had molded into Loki’s form. Roska watched him thrashing in his bedroll, his face bunched up in a pained expression.

This was most definitely not about the ground.

Roska shifted forward on her knees. She touched Loki’s shoulder and shook him. “Loki.”

Loki let out a gasp, and his body curled up as if he were trying to make himself as small a target as possible.

Roska released the casting. “Loki, make yourself visible,” she demanded, not wanting to give him too much time to think. “Right now. This is important.”

Still sleep muddled, Loki did as she asked. He pushed himself up to sit as he did so, meeting her eyes. Roska saw then how the bruises beneath his eyes had darkened.

“What is it?” he asked. The beginning flickers of combat magic grew in his palms. “What happened?”

“You are having night terrors,” stated Roska.

 Loki stared at her for several seconds as if he could not understand what she had said. Then, his mouth curved as he scoffed, and the combat magic disappeared.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“What are they about?”

“Perhaps you had a night terror, and I was in it.” Loki called forth his pack and pulled the cork from one of the skins attached to it.

“I did not.”

“Have a night terror or have a dream with me in it? Are you dreaming of me?” Loki questioned, giving her a wide smile before lifting the skin to his lips.

“No,” Roska huffed. Once again he was trying to turn the conversation away from himself, but she would not let it happen. “I have been listening to you sleep –”

“That seems tedious. At least if I were visible at the time, you would have something pleasing to look –”

Roska lunged forward and grabbed Loki by the shoulders. His eyelids flared in surprise. He dropped the skin, holding out his hands. His smile widened as if her reaction amused him, but a trace of combat magic glowed and died in his palms.

“Enough,” Roska spat out. “I will not let you avoid this. I have answered countless questions from you fully and honestly, and you have given me nothing.”

“We have an agreement,” Loki reminded her. “You convince me that you are the Draugr, and I will tell you anything.”

“Damn that agreement. I am concerned about you.”

“I’m touched.”

“I am concerned that before you fell from the Rainbow Bridge you did not have night terrors –”

“So listening to me sleep is a habit, is it?”

Roska tightened her hold on him, fury making her chest burn. “Stop trying to divert me! I am concerned that you did not have night terrors before, but now you do and between then and now you spent time with Thanos.”

“A coincidence,” Loki said with a shrug.

“No, it is most certainly not a coincidence,” Roska seethed. “What happened to you?”

“I already told you. I bargained for an army.”

“That cannot be all of it.”

“There is nothing more to tell.”

Roska let go of his shoulders to grip above one of his wrists and yanked the sleeve of his tunic up, revealing the thick scars there. She had been thinking on the patterning of scars and realized what they were from, a special kind of metal cuff used to restrain magic wielders.

“This does not look like nothing,” Roska noted.

Loki yanked his wrist free, his smile hardening. “It was a very long fall from Asgard. I was bound to end up with a few scrapes and scars.” He scooped up the fallen water skin and corked it. “We are wasting time.”

As he got to his feet, Roska rose with him. Loki had turned away, swinging his travel cloak over his shoulders. Roska was angry, worried as well, but mostly angry.

“Do you not care at all about the fate of Asgard?” she cried.

Loki looked back at her, the shadows under his eyes now gone, covered by an illusion. “Of course I care,” he said, sounding nearly as angry as Roska. “I have no interest in sitting on a pile of rock.”

“Then convince me that Thanos is not a threat to it. Tell me he is not gathering the Infinity Stones. Tell me he does not have any hold over you. Tell me what happened to you.”

Loki eyed her for a long moment. “I thought you said you never have doubts.”

“I don’t.” The anger drained from her as a whirling pit of anxiety floated up. Roska rubbed her fingers together. “I have no doubts. These are not doubts. They are… they are concerns. I am certain that having you on the throne will ensure Fate’s course if Thanos were to attack Asgard. But… But…”

Her thoughts were as muddled as her emotions. This would all be so much simpler if she could use the Sight or her rune stones. But instead she had been entrusted with a Choosing. Roska hung her head, feeling like she was somehow failing in her duties as Draugr.

“Please,” she murmured. “I am trying to do what is right.”

No response. Roska closed her eyes, wishing she could go back to Asgard where all she had to do was fight off the occasional threat and answer a rare summons, both of which were much easier when Fate was pointing the way for her. Life was so difficult without having a path to follow. She did not know how anyone could stand it.

Dirt crunched, a few leaves crinkled, and Roska felt a hand lifting her chin. She opened her eyes and looked up.

Loki stared down at her, not looking angry, but not smiling either. He dropped his hand. “Thanos never mentioned the Infinity Stones. And he has no hold over me. Not – not any longer.”

“You are certain?” Roska queried.

The corner of Loki’s mouth creased in irritation. “Yes. I am certain.”

He still had not explained what had happened, why he had those scars. Nor had he told her where the night terrors came from. However, Roska felt better. She had seen the influence of the Mind Stone leave him after all and had not sensed any strong aura of chaos magic on him afterwards. The aura of it that came from her casting was fading as well. That would be enough for now. She would get more answers later.

“Good,” Roska sighed. She offered him a smile. “I hope your nights become less troubled.”

“As do I,” Loki agreed. He bent down to pack his bedroll.

Roska did the same beside him. “Perhaps once this journey is at its end and you are king, your past will not trouble you so. Although, I suppose being king comes with troubles of its own.”

“That is true, but I look forward to it.”

“I know. Just as I know you will handle those troubles better than Thor or your father.”

Roska clenched her teeth. She had not meant to use that word. She glanced at Loki, expecting to see him swell up in a rage, but instead he was regarding her with his head cocked and that expression he got sometimes, like he was listening for something far away that he could not quite comprehend.

Then, Roska heard an actual sound. The snap of a branch like she had heard so many times in the Filrar. Only this time, it was very, very close.


	7. Seks

Another _crack_ split the air. It sounded close, too close. Roska debated whether to create a rift, but the opening would only attract attention. She took a step back and pressed herself up against the tree. Its many tangled roots should dissuade whatever creature came this way from getting near enough to trample them. Beside her, Loki also slid closer to the trunk, magic flaring in his hands.

The trunk of the tree shivered as if its heart too were beating faster. The ray of light streaming down before Roska’s eyes flickered. Something was passing through it. Roska tilted her head upwards.

A group of creature moved across the branches. They had a bulbous shape and were covered in grey bristles. Six lengthy appendages protruded from their bodies, allowing them to swing between the branches, which they did, winding backwards before propelling themselves forward with a sharp jerk as one might make throwing a ball.

As Roska watched, one of the creatures grabbed a branch that was too thin causing it to snap. Another of its kind caught the falling creature and swung it to the safety of a sturdier branch where it quickly resumed its fast pace.

The sight alone was not worrisome. Roska had seen many creatures throughout their journey so far and, apart from the encounter at the river, none had noticed her or Loki unless they ran into something unexpected that made noise. Even the speed of the creatures would not have been met with any concern on its own. However, in conjunction with the chilling howl that tore through the air behind them, Roska thought there may be cause to take precautions.

“I think it best we were on our way,” Loki suggested, mirroring her concern.

“Agreed.”

Roska was about to open a rift in the direction they had been travelling when another howl joined the first. A third joined from the opposite direction and more and more until the howls echoed all around them. Roska clenched her hands. If she opened a rift, it might put them straight in the path of whatever was howling. Of course this would happen when they were getting close to the edge of the Filrar. The forest would not let them go so easily.

“Well,” said Loki, stretching his arms. “It has been at least a few days since anything has tried to kill us. Finally some excitement.”

Had anyone else made that same pronouncement, Roska would have thought they were making a jest. With Loki, she was not entirely certain. He tended to look quite happy whenever an unexpected tribulation beset them, as if they were being given a rare opportunity to participate in a performance given by Asgard’s finest acting troupe instead of potentially being mauled by wild beasts, burned by ice-fires, or swallowed by rocks, trees, the ground, or whatever else was intent on cutting their lives short. It was disconcerting to see Loki grinning at such a time, for it reminded Roska of how Thor used to act before Odin had temporarily banished him to Midgard. Running at the biggest opponent with a huge smile on his face.

Roska took a deep breath as her stomach shifted uncomfortably. No doubts. Loki was not as reckless as his brother had been, surely. And this was a better alternative to balking at danger.

“We will stay here until whatever is making that howling has passed,” Roska decided. “They or it should not detect us anyway.”

Loki sighed. “Must you spoil the fun?”

“I am not spoiling anything. I am trying to ensure that you stay alive.”

“That _we_ stay alive, you mean.”

Roska opened her mouth to say that the end of her life was ultimately inconsequential; the next Draugr would carry on as well as she could. But she remembered that she was in the middle of her Choosing. If she died now, that would be, in essence, making a choice, and not the one she wanted. How strange to think that she as an individual had so much meaning.

“Just until I see you on the throne,” Roska replied. “Then, Fate will resume its course, and my life will no longer be of any import.”

The howls grew closer, melding so that they formed a solid wall that squeezed tighter like fingers turning into a fist. Roska pressed further back into the tree, feeding energy into her shield.

“So glad I could give your life meaning. I would hate to think the Draugr felt unimportant,” Loki said. Something in his tone came across as mocking, though Roska could not parse out the implication. Talking with Loki would be so much simpler if he spoke plainly.

“How I feel is irrelevant,” Roska stated in the hopes she was addressing the correct issue. “We _are_ important, you and I. We are shaping Fate whether we both die here or you take the throne.”

“Of the two options, I would prefer the latter.”

“As would I.”

Branches snapped coming towards them. From a distance, Roska could see the bulbous creatures hurrying back. They must have run into whatever was howling. One of the creatures lagged behind the others. Its bristles were matted and dark in several patches. As she watched, it fell. Another of its kind grabbed it by one leg and propelled it forward, but the creature did not reach out for another branch. It hit the ground and lay there unmoving. Faintly she heard a distressed chittering coming from the group, even though she could not recall seeing mouths.

The howling had stopped, but from behind the trees came the loping gait of feet against soil and the huff of panting breaths. They crashed like a wave around the tree where Roska and Loki hid, leaping over roots and kicking up leaves and fallen twigs.

Wolves.

Roska’s breath caught at the sight of them. Coming across wolves on the way to find the Fang of the great wolf spirit Fenrir. Surely this meant they were on the right path, and Fate was rewarding them with a sign.

The wolves were massive, of a height with Loki, with sleek brown fur. Their frames were hunger-pang thin, but muscles knotted around their legs. Instead of long, fluffy tails, their tails consisted of a short stump of tufted fur that fanned out more like that of a bird than a canine. When the wolves spotted their prey, they slowed to a prowl and halted mere paces away from Roska and Loki.

The bulbous creatures leapt between branches, but their direction seemed confused as more wolves appeared out of the forest to surround them. They moved closer together until they formed a writhing mass of grey bristles. Roska wondered how the wolves planned on getting to the bulbous creatures. Even if the wolves could jump – which seemed unlikely – the trees did not look strong enough to bear their weight. Yet, the creatures did appear afraid of the wolves. But perhaps the fear came instinctively from being approached by any predator, and the wolves would grow bored after waiting a while, or else the bulbous creatures would decide to move off.

“We shall wait a moment,” Roska whispered, although the wolves would not be able to hear her. “Then, I will create a rift to take us away.” She was hoping the wolves would try to attack the bulbous creatures somehow so they would be less likely to notice the rift opening behind them.

Loki nodded. “Very well.”

A few of the wolves circled beneath the creatures while the other wolves waited panting and letting out the occasional snarl. Suddenly, one of the wolves leapt an improbable height. Its teeth clacked together in an unsuccessful attempt to bite one of the bulbous creatures, but it had come close. The other wolves followed its cue, leaping into the air.

Roska opened a rift between herself and Loki. And she would have stepped right through it, if not for the trembling. The tree at her back shuddered; the ground vibrated. The wolves stopped jumping, shifting about uncertainly and looking around them. The mass of creatures up in the tree was trembling as well.

A quake. It must be.

The mass of creatures plummeted from the tree and fell upon the wolves. Blood and meat splattered at the impact, an unexpected amount of it, which sprayed Roska and Loki with gore. Roska spat out the salty taste of blood in her mouth. She hardly believed the sight before her eyes.

The bulbous creatures had looked like a writhing mass because they had become a single entity that mirrored the smaller forms. It made wet smacking noises as the wolves it had crushed were somehow devoured. The remaining wolves, realizing this, broke in all directions. Arms lashed out of the creature, grabbing the wolves and dragging them yelping beneath its massive body. More blood and white shards of bone flew out.

Shock fading, Roska turned and stepped through the rift. Loki followed right on her heels, and she was quick to open more rifts to take them farther away until she could no longer hear the massive creature feasting on the wolves. She halted to assess her garments. Her armor would have to be polished. Since her tunic and breeches were black, the blood would not show, but she should scrape off the bits of flesh and tufts of fur.

“Though our day has just begun, might I suggest we stop temporarily?” Roska said.

“Yes,” Loki agreed. He wiped a hand across his cheeks, which only smeared the gore into thick streaks. “I hope this is not going to keep happening or our garments will look like motley by the end of this journey. Unless you have spare garments hidden away.”

“I do not.”

“Shame.” Loki called forth his pack. “I could hide the appearance of course, but the smell would be much harder work.”

Roska, as usual, had not considered such a familiar smell as blood. She brought a sleeve to her nose and sniffed at a wet patch. It smelled no better or worse than her blood would. Since Niflheim was not known for being a particularly hot realm, the scent should not grow any stronger. No need to spend too much time scrubbing the blood away from anything but her armor. Just scrape off the worst of it, clean her face and hands, and they could be on their way.

Roska glanced at Loki, who was swishing drink around his mouth. “The smell should not be so bad.”

“Mmm.” Loki swallowed. “I think I will don a fresh tunic, all the same.”

Which meant he would be down to his last clean one with still around three months’ journey ahead of him, but Roska shrugged. Loki disappeared from view, and Roska let go of the casting that kept her visible to him. She debated whether to clean herself first or her garments, and decided there was no point in brushing herself off if she could not put on her tunic and breeches immediately afterwards.

Roska set her breastplate on the ground. She pulled off her vambraces and greaves as well, and set them beside her breastplate. Using one foot to hold down the heel of the opposite boot in order to slip it off, she reached back to lift her tunic over her head.

Wood snapped and cracked behind her. Roska turned. The noise originated from a ways off, but in the direction from whence they had come. She listened, tunic hanging forgotten from her arms. The snapping grew louder.

“Loki.”

“What?”

The breaking of wood increased, accompanied by the soft rustling of the forest’s sparse foliage shivering. Roska crouched to touch the ground. It trembled beneath her fingertips. She yanked her tunic back over her head and jammed her left foot into its boot. Faced with the pressing need to move, Roska expended the little energy need to transport the armor onto her body with magic.

Loki must have finally heard whatever was crashing towards them, or felt the earth shifting, because he appeared in a faint golden glow as he also donned his discarded armor.

Roska opened a rift. “We should go.”

They darted through the rift. The noise faded with the distance, but it increased again. Roska opened another rift in a different direction. The sound kept coming. She shifted them as they ran, moving in jagged peaks but consistently towards the edge of the Filrar. How was the sound following them? Was it using the ground as those creatures by the river had?

“Hold on,” Roska instructed, grabbing Loki’s arm to keep him steady as she pulled air beneath them so they were a hand’s width above the ground as they sprinted. This had no effect in dissuading the sound from following them.

“Perhaps you should have chosen a different casting for me than invisibility,” Loki remarked. “Because so far it appears to be of very little use.”

Roska ignored him as she had more pressing matters to deal with than responding to his unhelpful comments. Her instinct was to keep running, but perhaps she should close the distance enough to see what was following them. At least then she would know what they were dealing with.

As that seemed like a good option – though admittedly perhaps not the smartest one depending on what lay behind them – Roska opened two rifts in rapid succession. She stepped through the first and looked behind her. The massive bulbous creature was chasing after them. It seemed even more gargantuan than it had before. It rolled across the ground using its arms and the trees to slingshot its body forward. Roska stepped through the second rift and closed it before the creature could get through. How was it tracking them? Never mind that – did it have a perceivable weakness?

“I think it is moving faster,” Loki noted.

The creature did seem to be speeding up. Roska opened two rifts again, and this time when she stepped through the first, she made the ground into liquid. The creature partially sank down, but it lifted its long arms up to grab three trees which shrieked in protest. Unbelievably, it was able to pull itself up, flying between the branches as its smaller counterparts had, although with much creaking and tearing of roots.

Roska closed the second rift with a dissatisfied snort, trying to determine the next casting to try. The shaking of the forest increased.

“Oh good,” said Loki. “You’ve made it angry.”

“I have not heard any suggestion from you that might make this creature feel otherwise,” Roska pointed out.

Maybe she could try crushing it with the trees. Or launching it up into the air to hopefully break its body on the way back down through the Filrar’s canopy. Roska risked a glance upwards. The thickly woven branches did appear to be unraveling, leaving more patches of light to filter down. They would surely snap on impact if the bulbous creature hit them with force.

The branches, Roska realized. For so long they had left her and Loki in near choking darkness, but if they were thinning, the edge of the Filrar must be near. Out in the open, the bulbous creature would have nothing to use to move forwards.

Roska opened rifts in rapid succession, nearly forming a tunnel. Creating a series of rifts in such close proximity to each other was dangerous, as they could meet at the edges and form into one larger rift that would suddenly drain much more energy, but Roska managed to keep them just far enough apart, though beads of sweat rose on her brow.

The trees grew sparser. The light brightened from above and soon ahead. Loki extinguished the ball of light as the orange glow enveloped them. And there. An opening that held no trees beyond.

Roska took them to the opening, and they raced out of the Filrar. The ground beneath them changed from dirt to solid, dark rock. Roska snuck a glance behind her. The creature came rolling out of the Filrar at a breakneck pace. It did slow, but quickly adapted to using its arms to push itself along.

Mayhap they could outrun the creature, but Roska did not like the idea of it following them. She concentrated, burrowing magic and energy downward. She could feel the hardness of rock running deep into the ground. In her mind, she pictured shapes, thick and sharp, and yanked upwards.

Rock exploded towards the sky like gigantic thorns. Roska looked back and let out a sigh of relief. The creature had been speared in several places, its body wriggling in distress. As she came to a stop, the creature broke into its smaller selves. Many were wounded and bleeding. Some stuck unmoving to the rock shards. Others rolled back towards the forest.

Roska lowered the rock back down with a rumbling. She gave the Filrar a last look, glad to be out of the place, and opened a final rift to take them as far as she could see on the horizon.

Satisfied they were out of danger for the moment, Roska dropped herself and Loki to the ground. They were so used to sudden bursts of activity from the Filrar that Roska had grown acclimated to settling more quickly afterwards. She allowed herself to survey the new landscape.

It was not much to look at. The rock extended out in every direction, although it did not look like what one might expect from a rocky ground. The surface was as smooth as well-polished stone. As she turned in a complete circle, Roska could spot only one crack about the length of her arm marring the flatness. The dark rock reflected the poisonous orange of the cloud-covered sky, which gave off little heat. A cool wind buffeted them. Loki’s cape – and then his travel cloak as he exchange his armor for it – flapped in the gusts. Apart from the wind, the open plain was as quiet as the Filrar.

“I suppose at least out here we need not worry about beasts chasing after us,” observed Roska. “We could see one approaching from leagues away.”

“I would not worry regardless,” Loki replied, inspecting his sleeve. “That was an impressive casting. Unnecessary, but impressive.”

“What do you mean ‘unnecessary’?”

“I believe I know how the creature was tracking us.”

Loki held up his arm to show off his sleeve. Roska stared at it uncomprehendingly. The grey fabric did not appear torn. There were a few splatters of wolf’s blood on it and a small congealed mass of what might be innards. Naturally, both she and Loki were still covered in the stuff as they did not have time to clean themselves. She inhaled the coppery scent of blood and realized what Loki meant.

“Did you just think of this?” Roska asked. “Or was it a prior revelation?”

Loki responded with an irritating grin.

Roska shook her head. While she should have thought of something as simple as masking their scent since she had already been hiding any noises they made, if Loki had thought of that first, at least he could have brought it up. Unless he was goading her.

“Do you treat all of your allies this way?” questioned Roska.

Because choosing not to act was dangerous, and making jests at the possible expense of an ally was not a wise decision, so either way she had concerns. Especially because this was not how she remembered Loki acting. Behind other’s backs perhaps, but he could be diplomatic if the situation called for it. He had promised he would treat her with respect, and he had been for the most part, but a king could not afford to slip up and risk offending an ally in the middle of a campaign.

“I would not know. I have never had allies,” Loki stated with a careless shrug. “But most likely. I like to think I treat most everyone equally.”

Trying to parse out possible reasons for his behavior, Roska said, “Is it because I am a woman?”

The gender politics on Asgard had only begun to undergo a change in the past few thousand years, and at a near crawling pace. Female warriors had been looked down upon, but Lady Sif had battled her way up the ranks and left enough of a berth that a couple more women were following her. Some had tried to divert them toward the Valkyries who, while combat trained, did little until the end of battle. Lady Sif and the other warriors had so far persisted. Roska saw the change reflected in the way women dressed on the streets – forms of decorative armor becoming more popular for them to wear – and how they carried themselves with lifted heads rather than keeping their eyes demurely lowered.

Although the shift had no bearing on Roska’s duties – Fate showed no bias in selecting Children based on anything as trivial as gender – she was pleased at the development. But there were always others who were resistant to change.

However, Loki seemed taken aback by the accusation. “I hardly think that has bearing on your ability to work castings. Or make decisions.”

Roska took him at his word since his mother was the person Loki respected the most. Possibly Frigga was the only person he truly respected, unless a part of him still felt anything of the sort for Odin, which she doubted based on the amount of anger he appeared to be harboring for the All-Father.

“Then might I offer you some advice?” Roska requested.

“By all means.” Loki spread his arms in a grand gesture that somehow conveyed he was not about to take the advice seriously, but Roska would say her piece anyway in the hopes he took a sliver of it to heart.

“Do not insult an ally by calling their actions ‘unnecessary’ when you still need them for further battles. They may get offended and abandon you.”

“Are you thinking of abandoning me?” Loki glanced around. “I must say, this would be a good place to do it. I am not even sure which direction we came from, and everything looks very much the same.”

“I am not abandoning you,” Roska assured him quickly. Not unless he gave her reason. But this misstep was not a reason. She was still confident that he was Asgard’s best hope for the years to come.

“Because the Norns would be disappointed?”

“No. I do not know how many times I must say that this is _my_ Choosing, and therefore _my_ choice alone. Neither the Norns nor anyone else is responsible for the outcome of my decision.”

“You make it sound like my being on the throne might not be a good outcome.”

“That was not my meaning.” Roska brought her fingers up to her temples, rubbing the skin there in tiny circles of frustration. “Are you trying to make me have doubts about you?”

Roska bit down on her bottom lip hard enough that it was difficult to tell whether she tasted wolf’s blood or her own. Why did he have to irritate her so badly as to make her say such things? She wiped her sleeve across her mouth.

Loki narrowed his eyes in thought. “No. Although if you did have doubts, I suppose I would not think it unfair. And if you voiced them, perhaps I could lay them to rest.”

That niggling sensation which made the occasional appearance in the back of Roska’s mind since her Choosing had begun crawling forward, like a hound asking its master to be released into the fields to run free. She hesitated.

“I mean, I do have a few… concerns,” Roska said carefully. “Nothing that would force me to make another choice. Of course, my primary concern is still your time with Thanos.” The corners of Loki’s mouth creased at the mention of the Mad Titan. “I do not suppose you will speak of that now?”

Loki looked off into the distance. His typical good humor had melted away. Ultimately, he shook his head. “What happened has no bearing on whether or not I should be king.”

“It might. I have rarely seen anything but ill effects from being held in a prison, especially in a place of chaos.” Loki glanced at her sharply. “That is what those scars on your wrists are from, are they not?” Roska inquired. Assuming as much was not a stretch. He would have needed to wear the cuffs for quite some time for the scars to be so deep.

Releasing a chuckle that rung hollow, Loki said, “A temporary misunderstanding.”

“With Thanos, I doubt it.”

“Ah, so you _can_ have doubts.”

“You cannot avoid telling me the truth forever.”

“I seem to be doing well so far.”

“Are you afraid I will show you pity? Because I will not. Or are you ashamed? Or is it that you are afraid I will change my mind when I hear what has happened to you?”

“I am not afraid of anything,” Loki retorted. “Or ashamed.”

A snort of laughter bubbled up. Roska set her hands on her hips, disbelieving of the utter hypocrisy of his words. “No? So you are not ashamed of your birthright?”

Loki folded his arms across his chest and snapped, “No.”

“Then I shall just break the casting that makes you look like an Aesir, since clearly it is of no consequence to you. Let us see how long you can maintain the illusion yourself.”

Despite his protests, Roska saw raw fear flicker in Loki’s eyes. “If anyone found out, I could not be king,” he hissed. “They would not let a –” His fingers flexed and tightened into fists, and Loki swallowed hard.

Roska felt a strange sensation as she looked at him. Threatening him with his race, it was a low blow. She was ashamed of herself for sinking to it in a moment of anger. But there was more to her emotions. Not pity, not exactly. She tried to remember when she had felt similarly before. She recalled it, this surging ache, from when she looked out over Asgard and thought of how she would have to let the realm be destroyed if such a destiny was fated. The emotion was not quite so strong now, but strong enough to give her pause.

Loki drew himself up and in a strained tone demanded, “If you’re going to break the casting, than just do it. This is _your_ choice, after all.”

“I am not going to break it,” Roska promised. “As you said, how you appear is, unfortunately, paramount to your ability to claim the throne. Even if it were not, I know your feelings on the matter are –” Loki glared at her as if daring her to go on. Roska sighed. “I wish we would not have these arguments. I expected some disagreement between us, but…”

But she did not like that their fighting made her feel strongly enough to lose check of her emotions. Roska was not a stranger to frustration or anger. She had debated with Odin a few times over the millennia, but there had never been any escalation on either side. Roska accepted what Fate dictated. Either Odin would heed her advice or her would not. With Loki, she felt less in control.

Needing time to think, Roska suggested, “We should clean up and continue moving.”

“Fine,” Loki agreed at once. He vanished.

Roska did the same. She disrobed and cleaned her garments and herself as quickly as possible since the wind brought a chill to her exposed skin. Since Loki had not reappeared, she settled down to begin a preliminary polishing of her armor and brought forth the book of maps to look over.

In their flight from the bulbous creature, Roska knew she had taken them at least somewhat off course. But by how much, she could not be certain. She glanced over the near empty space on a map that showed the border of the Filrar and the far distant Elivagar. This stretch would be the longest leg of the journey. Whereas Asgard was the smallest of the Nine Realms, Niflheim was amongst the largest, despite its sparse inhabitants. At least with the vast openness, she could see at a farther distance and therefore open rifts that covered more ground.

Roska eyed the line that marked the edge of Vergelmir. If she took them in a southwesterly direction, which was not too far out of the way, they should eventually hit Vergelmir and then she would know precisely where to go from there.

It sounded like a viable plan. Now what was she to do about Loki? Roska gingerly scrubbed away a globule of brain matter from her breastplate. She did not want a chasm to grow between them. She wanted Loki to trust her, and she had behaved badly towards him. Of course, he had not been particularly civil himself, but she knew better than to expect him to extend a hand first. She needed a peace offering, something that might show Loki that he still had her confidence.

When Loki made himself visible to her, Roska had come up with an idea.

“You have been asking me to show you how I removed this –” Roska waved the book of maps in one hand. “– from your pocket dimension. Would you like to learn the casting now?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, but his look was eager. “I would.”

“Then I will show you.”

Rosa nodded her head to indicate that they should walk while she instructed him. She had heavily warded her pocket dimensions, but she pulled the energy from her wards on the smaller of the two. Some of the energy would be lost, but the rest she fed into her shield for the time being.

“Obviously you can sense your own pocket dimension, but have you learned how to sense those of others?” Roska asked.

“I have not,” Loki admitted.

Roska had been pondering how to best explain the necessary magic, as she had innate knowledge from being dipped in Mimir. Loki had seemed confused on occasion at things that were obvious to her, so she hoped the explanation she had come up with made sense.

“The trick of it is, you have to know when someone is opening or closing their pocket dimension. Once you have discovered it that way, you can access the pocket dimension at any time. The problem is that everyone’s pocket dimension has a different feel. The general structure of it is the same, a tear in the fabric between dimensions, but depending on the person, the tear can feel as if it were made with a knife or by ripping the fabric apart with one’s bare hands. What you are searching for, then, is that which all pocket dimensions have in common.”

“The space between the tear,” Loki stated.

Roska smiled at him. “Very good. So I will move the book of maps between my pocket dimension and my hands, and you try to feel for that space. It should be like reaching for your own, only it will feel like you are stretching almost beyond your reach. Ready?”

At a nod from Loki, Roska twisted her hands and tucked the book into her pocket dimension. She knew he would not sense the space on the first try, so she pulled the book back out. Back and forth, she bounced the book as they strode onwards, passing through rifts as she created them.

Loki proved to be very patient. Even if she were not the best teacher, he had been a model student since he was young as long as he did not mind the tutor. Sometimes they spoke of other things, but soon Roska would take out the book so they could practice.

They moved on across the flat rock. The only creatures they encountered were tiny lizard-like things that made sharp, skittering taps as they hurried to destinations unknown. When Roska and Loki grew tired, they settled down with a fireglobe between them for warmth, and drew two shields around their camp, one for protections from dangers and the other to block the winds.

Eventually, Roska felt a slight warning flare from the shells of her wards on the pocket dimension.

“There!” Roska exclaimed. “You were close.”

“At last,” Loki sighed. “I was beginning to think this was a pointless exercise.”

He had it within the day. Roska stiffened as a sensation like stepping through an icy waterfall rolled over her body.

“You had it,” Roska informed him. “Now you just use the same casting you would employ to take an object from anywhere else.”

The icy sensation drenched her again, and the book of maps appeared in Loki’s hands instead of hers. Loki gazed down at it with a victorious grin. Roska let out a relieved breath. She had been fretting that she had come up with an idea that would only frustrate and tire them both. But Loki had done it, and she felt like they had both accomplished something.

“Well done,” Roska congratulated.

Loki tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Can this be done without alerting the person you are taking something from?”

“Put the book in your pocket dimension,” Roska invited. She narrowed her concentration, watching the book intently. As it faded, she nimbly snared the book and showed it to him. “It just takes timing. You have to do it when the pocket dimension is open if you don’t want the intrusion to be felt.”

Practicing that technique became the next occupation of their time. Roska was pleased that Loki was so eager to learn from her, and she thought when he was satisfied with learning how to access pocket dimensions, he might share some information with her while in a good mood.

Naturally, Loki figured out how to carefully remove an object from a pocket dimension with practice. Roska had not even been paying much attention when it happened. She was lost in thought over the Fang and her unfinished plan, moving the book reflexively. Suddenly, she reached for it and the book was gone.

Roska blinked and looked over at Loki, who was holding the book and staring at her intently. “That was it.”

Loki’s expression grew triumphant. “Well, I have a feeling this will be very useful.”

“I am sure it will be.” Roska was glad she would not have to move the book around anymore. That meant more energy could go towards creating rifts. She was currently exhausted. “And I think this is a sign we should make camp.”

Roska shifted the necessary energy from her shield back into the wards and pulled the book into her pocket dimension. A soft pressure tapped at her skull, and Loki let out a grunt.

“Apologies,” said Roska. She should have warned Loki before he could make another attempt. “I activated the wards.”

“You can ward a pocket dimension?” Loki inquired. “I am surprised that is not well known.”

“It is very old magick. And complex.”

Roska took out her pack and rifled around for the fireglobe inside. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loki watching her hopefully. She had to smile. She would not teach him all of the wards, for she did not want to risk anyone gaining the ability to undo them, but she supposed passing on one ward would not be so harmful.

“I will teach you how later,” Roska granted. “I wish to focus my efforts on the rifts, and on plans for once we have the Fang of Fenrir.”

“Very well,” sighed Loki, but he still seemed pleased with his accomplishment.

Roska waited through setting up the fireglobe, placing down her bedroll, and eating a strip of dried fruit. She had pondered long and hard what question to ask. She knew Loki’s mood would not withstand a whole line of inquiry. She had to make this question count.

When Loki came back from relieving himself, Roska was ready. “I have a question for you.”

Loki considered her as he sat down on his bedroll. “Do you think because you taught me magic, I owe you answers?”

“That was not my intention when I offered, but it is my hope now that you will answer just one question. Please.”

Loki appeared to mull it over, chewing on a piece of dried meat. “You may ask.”

Roska shifted closer to him. She had to look for any sign of deception, to test for a flare of chaos magic that might indicate a tampered memory.

“If you were king and Thanos turned his sight upon the Nine Realms, any or all of the Nine Realms, what would be your response?”

A twitch of his eyebrows indicated Loki had expected another question, but his eyes took on a hard gleam. Roska could not sense a magical change. Yet, she did feel rage thickening the air like an impending storm.

“I hope he will come,” said Loki softly. “Because if he does, I will tear him apart piece by piece.”

Roska nodded. That was what she had wanted to hear. Thanos was not to be bargained with. He was not to be ignored, no matter if he wished to build a hut on Niflheim or mount a war against the might of Asgard. He was not welcome in the Nine Realms. She needed to know that Loki would want Thanos gone because Odin had grown too frail and Thor too full of heart, and neither were clever enough to organize a successful plan to take on the Mad Titan. Not in her estimation.

“Do you think it will come to pass?” Loki asked.

With Thanos holding on to Infinity Stones, Roska thought the possibility had grown more likely. There had been collected facts and rumors gathered in journals of the previous Draugr. While Children could not use the Sight to look upon Thanos directly, it was their responsibility to keep a weather eye on more powerful beings of chaos such as Dormammu and Thanos. The Mad Titan had been moving closer to the Nine Realms, that much was known. Should he get too much closer, Thanos would become an active threat to the balance of Fate, hence the reason her selection of the reigning monarch of Asgard was so important. He might be the one on the throne should Thanos make an attempt to throw the Nine Realms into Chaos, thereby upsetting Fate throughout the galaxy.

“It might,” Roska stated. And since Loki had been in close proximity to Thanos, Roska questioned, “What do you think?”

She half expected Loki to point out that this was a second question, but he sat pondering for a while. “If I were to mount a war against a land whose exact resources and defenses were unknown to me, I might first send an expendable force to a middling part of that land to test the response. If that force happened to win, I could claim the land and conquer others from there. If they lost, I would still have gained what I wanted most: information.”

Thanos’ seemingly flippant attempt to invade Midgard might not be as ill-planned as Roska had initially thought. “You see? This is why it is vital we discuss your time with Thanos. You said that you bargained with him for Asgard’s throne.”

“Yes.”                                                    

“What were the exact conditions of that bargain?”

“I rule Asgard, and Midgard as well so long as I could claim it.” Loki paused and lowered his gaze to the fireglobe.

“In return, you give back the Mind and Space Stones, and…?”

“And that is all I am certain of,” Loki spat out. “I knew there had to be more, but I did not care. I just wanted to be out of that place. I thought I might be able to escape, but then Thanos used the scepter.” His lips curved into a snarl. “He said it was easier that way. That he was a god amongst lesser beings, and subjugation was our natural state.”

“That we were made to be ruled,” Roska echoed. She had wondered where that exact sentiment had come from. Midgardians were not a particularly powerful race, but while the Aesir might disregard them, they also left Midgardians to their own devices with the understanding that they were more or less self-sufficient.

Loki lifted his gaze to hers. “It might yet be true for humans, but it is certainly not true for me.”

“As I am aware or else I would be sitting in front of Thor instead of you.” Roska clasped her hands together. “If Thanos does come, the Children will stand with you. He must be stopped at any cost.”

“On that we are agreed.” Loki smiled faintly. “And I suppose as allies go, I could do far worse.”

Roska had further questions, but she decided that she had asked enough of him for today. They had reached an understanding, which she desired to set in stone. Roska held out her left hand. Loki eyed it, then held out his own. Roska grasped above his wrist and put her opposite hand on his shoulder. She had seen the gesture used between war generals as a sign of kinship towards one another before a battle.

At least, that had been her understanding. Loki did not immediately return the gesture, but whether she had misinterpreted or there was something else at play, Roska was not sure. She let go of his arm with embarrassment and shifted back on her bedroll.

“You should get some sleep, if you can,” she suggested. “Once you set the shields. Unless you would like me to do it?”

Loki shook his head. “I will take care of it.” And before he became invisible, the last thing Roska saw was him staring pensively into the fire.


	8. Sjau

Tedious. That is how Loki would have described the rock surface of Niflheim that he and Roska were currently crossing. Dull would also do or insipid or any of the hundred synonyms he could have come up with because that was the extent of his boredom at times. He knew that it had been worse during that period when Roska had not been speaking to him, but at least they had been in the Filrar and thus likely to encounter some animal or deadly trap to break up the monotony. So far, the only similar experience was waking up to something crawling over him. The creature turned out to be one of those tiny lizard-like creatures that darted rapidly across the rock surface, but Loki had turned it into little more than a scorch mark before realizing what it was.

That he was not sleeping well certainly did not improve Loki’s mood by much. He wished he could drink himself into oblivion just for one peaceful night, but while Roska had produced more skins with mead and water, she admitted that she had rationed their supply to the necessary amount to make the journey. Therefore, Loki had no choice but to endure the night terrors that plagued his sleep and wake in the morning relieved to be free of Thanos’ grasp, yet irritable.

Despite his complaints, which did include more than just moving slowly across a barren plain and not sleeping properly, Loki did not spend all of his days in a perpetual state of frustration. He would not let Roska forget about showing him the methods of warding a pocket dimension. One question lead to another, and Loki discovered that the breadth of Roska’ knowledge of magics was vast, rivaling and, truth be told, exceeding his own in many areas. Even the types of magics which she could not perform well, such as illusions, she could discuss at length.

Over weeks of travel, Loki developed an idea of how she had come by this knowledge.

He had become more certain that Roska was, as far as she knew, being honest with him about her past. She never wavered in details and wore her emotions plainly on her face. He found it difficult to fathom that she could be better at trickery than him.

However, while he believed in the Norns, Loki still found it hard to believe in the Children of Norn. So instead he came up with a theory. The “Norns” Roska had met was at least one being if not more with either an interest in gaining influence over the Nine Realms, a fanatical devotion to Fate, or both. As Mimir contained the collective knowledge in the Nine Realms, being able to draw from its waters would grant such influence and means to safeguard Fate.

The problem was that even touching the surface of Mimir could drive one mad. Thus, Loki had initially dismissed Roska’s claim that she had been submerged in the well. Yet, what if by emptying her mind of memory and previous knowledge, such damage would not be caused? So discovering this, the “Norns” chose beings from various realms with potential, such as Roska showed for performing powerful castings. Then, the “Norns” indoctrinated them as the Children of Norn, thereby creating a group at their disposal who could be learned from, manipulated, and – should their plot be discovered – used to eliminate enemies.

While such a plot might have been carried on for generations, Loki meant to break the cycle. Roska was valuable, and he would like to have her at his disposal. No longer was it enough to shatter her faith in the Norns and the Children of Norn for his own amusement. He needed to redouble his efforts to win her over.

If only he had returned her gesture of camaraderie all those weeks ago. That would have been an excellent way to show that he valued her. But when Roska clasped his arm and rested a hand on his shoulder, Loki could only think of the one person who had ever engaged him in that way: Thor, gripping so tight that it hurt and shaking him in a display of brotherly affection. Loki had not been able to return the gesture with Roska. At least he had not recoiled, and he could not change his response. He could only tread with more care going forward.

In addition to plotting how to take the throne, then, whenever Roska went quiet or he was too tired to discourse on magic with her, Loki spent those moments plotting how to win her loyalty once this journey was at its end. If she did not seem so oblivious to flirtation, he might have attempted seducing her. As it was, he would continue to throw out the occasional flirtatious comment in case one struck, but he put seduction towards the end of his options. He could pretend to believe her about the Norns, but that would be a pain to keep up, especially if something he wanted conflicted with what the “Norns” told her about Fate. Pointing out other possible reasonings to her beliefs had gotten him nowhere. Occasionally she might admit that his speculations were “possible,” but she refused to doubt.

Loki needed to figure out what Roska wanted. Everyone had desires, and not every desire was so grand as keeping Fate on its course or staging a political coup.

To discover what she wanted, it was prudent to first lay out what Roska was interested in. She enjoyed the books he read, but as she could come and go in any library and bookshop as she pleased, there was hardly any more Loki could offer her. He did mark this passion as a sign that she was at least interested in acquiring knowledge. She wore numerous amulets, but he had none he could offer her currently. When he asked, Roska exclaimed about their many uses. She showed him a few before their conversation went off in another direction, but he noted this for a potential future in which he could gift her with a rare amulet to curry favor. She enjoyed weaving, a subject about which Loki knew nothing and bored him immediately.

A final interest emerged, one that Roska never alluded to directly, but Loki pieced together over the course of their conversations.

Roska spoke about the three scholars who cared for the largest library in Asgard – apart from the one in Hlidskialf – and how she would sit between them listening to their debates.

“To hear their opinions on important matters,” she explained as they walked. “It allows me to understand the Aesir’s interpretation of where Fate may be taking Asgard.”

Much later, Roska talked of masterweaver and his apprentice whose mistakes Roska would correct when neither was looking.

“It is a difficult trade to learn on one’s own, even from books,” she imparted. Roska picked up a lizard creature as it tried to scuttle past. The lizard went still when she brought it up to eye-level. “I thought the girl just needed a nudge in the right direction.”

“Is that not interfering with Fate?” Loki asked. Assisting an apprentice sounded like a direct intervention, which up to this point he had understood was not allowed for the Children of Norn except during their Choosing.

Roska shook her head. “A single change in small matter is inconsequential. A pebble will not divert a river.” She set the lizard down, and it darted off.

Loki pointed out, “But several thrown in the same place will.”

“That is true,” Roska admitted, shifting uncomfortably on her bedroll. “But she gave up the trade, so it was of no consequence.”

While they set up camp, Roska went on about people she met at feasts in great detail and seen weeks and months afterwards. Loki was barely listening. His head pounded from lack of sleep and his eyes itched. But later, he did remember one part of her rambling.

“I do not engage in conversation often, you understand,” she stated, looking embarrassed to have brought the topic up at all. “Mostly it was after I defeated the Jakvlaji. I had to be certain that the chaos it exuded had not affected anyone who might have seen it. That was why I later visited their homes or tracked them to markets or places of work. To be sure there were no lasting consequences.”

The final story that made Loki realize what these separate tales added up to came when Roska was in a rare talkative mood.

“You know, the first people I ever spoke with on Asgard itself were a group of children,” Roska said, her gaze focused on the horizon as she split open a rift. “I was a child myself, I suppose, though I certainly did not feel it. I was wandering the streets, attempting to become more comfortable with the city. I stopped in an alley to watch them. They seemed to be having a good time. I am not quite certain what possessed me to do so, but I made myself visible. I walked out of the alley and asked to join their game.” Her expression clouded over.

Loki prompted, “What then?”

Roska blinked and glanced at him, then away. She rubbed her fingers together, a gesture he had connected with embarrassment on her part.

“They seemed afraid of me. Like I was some unnatural beast that had crawled into their midst.” Roska shrugged. “I should not have interfered in their game to begin with.”      

The realization struck Loki like a well-placed blow. Roska had said that the Children of Norn were not to be partial to any one person, that having a loved one could interfere with their duty to the course of Fate. But though this principle should have forced Roska into solitude, she could not stand to live life on her own. What Roska wanted was companionship.

Roska winced when she looked at him. “Yes, I suppose it must have been a comical scene. A whole group of children afraid of a tiny girl.”

Loki dropped his smile. He did not have much practice in being a friend to someone, but he could do better than grinning at a memory that hurt Roska.

“It was not that. I was… I was thinking of a similar experience I had,” he lied. “I believe the other children sensed somehow that I was a prince. Children can be perceptive. And cruel.”

The best way to become closer to someone, Loki had discovered, was to convince that person of shared common ground. Lie some, but not enough for that person to become suspicious, and give out bits of truth when useful.

Now Roska made the situation more complicated. Loki knew she sometimes followed him, potentially since the day he was brought to Asgard. Unfortunately, he did not know how often or when or what she remembered so he could easily be caught in a lie, which could undo any steps he took towards making Roska feel like they were companions. Therefore, he had to grasp for the truth more often or at least versions of the truth.

They did have some actual common ground for Loki to make use of, and had already been making use of before even setting this plan into action. Roska enjoying the books he read, so Loki spoke about some of the titles he could recall until she seemed to brighten over a text called _A Speculation on Búri and the Art of Water-Based Magic_ , which he then proclaimed to be one of his favorites, earning him a smile and words of agreement from Roska. While he had been learning as much magic as he could glean from her, Loki made sure to sound both grateful and impressed, although he made such comments sparsely once Roska eyed him with concern and asked if he was well.

“I am quite well,” Loki assured her.

Roska looked doubtful. “Are you still having troubled nights?”

“No.”

“Are you certain? Because you are acting almost delirious.”

Loki felt almost delirious. “I assure you, I am fine.”

“Mmm.” Roska scratched her neck, still looking him over. “Are you trying to flatter me into doing or saying something?”

“Of course not. You are already my ally in gaining the throne. That is all I want.”

As for their pasts, Roska spent most of her days alone, and while Loki had been surrounded by servants, tutors, and his once-family, he had often felt alone. In his youth, he had playmates. He had even considered a select few friends then. But some grew angry or tired of his tricks. Others he realized clung to him due to his status, and he either shed them or used them until he grew bored. Those left were willing to do anything he asked, but none of them were clever enough, and so he grew weary of them as well. All that remained were two companions and when he realized they were tolerating him because of Thor, he turned them away.

Loki rarely minded being alone, preferred the solitude even, but not all of the time. Although, it was not loneliness that had affected him so much as a sense of displacement, like he was always standing one step to the left of where he should be, but he could not take that step because the space was already occupied.

Even if Roska felt the same, Loki would not have shared this feeling. It was too personal. Besides, her belief in being the Draugr meant that as far back as Roska remembered, she was exactly where she should be. He supposed that must be comforting for her. He was even a little envious, although he would hate having his every action dictated by anyone, even Fate itself.

Although, Roska was not letting her _every_ action be dictated. She had maneuvered around certain rules – or broken them – about being impartial towards people. And if she was really telling the truth about her Choosing, that no one influenced her in any way, then she had made a choice that would by no means be a popular one. A seed of rebellion rested somewhere inside Roska, and if he could help it grow a few more roots, Loki considered that a worthy challenge. As long as she did not rebel against him, of course.

“Have you never wanted anything?” Loki queried to that end. The question was more blunt than usual, but he had lost a good deal of concentration. He pulled his travel cloak tightly around him, feeling unusually cold. To take the blunt edge off, he grinned and added, “Or anyone?”

“Of course,” Roska replied. Loki did not expect more without prompting because Roska had recently grown quieter, but she continued, “I want to keep Fate on its course. I want my Choosing to be successful.”

Loki snorted. “Such dull answers.”

“Perhaps you should ask more interesting questions.”

At the beginning of their journey, Roska had responded exclusively with seriousness, but she had started to throw quips back at him. Loki was actually pleased about it.

“That is how the Draugr would answer. What about you?”

“I am the Draugr,” Roska sighed, as though she had given the same reply to a thousand arguments.

“But that is not all you are. I am asking you, Roska, what do you want?”

“My answer is the same.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

Loki shook his head. He dragged one foot forward, put it in front of the other. He could feel the months he had been walking in every step.

“Where did your name come from anyway?” Loki asked. “Roska. Did the Norns give it to you?”

A long silence followed. Loki glanced over at Roska who fidgeted with her hands. He recalled that she had done the same when he had first asked for her name. What could be so embarrassing about her name, Loki had not the faintest idea. He vaguely remembered hearing the name “Roska” once or twice, so it was not as if she had made the name up.

“Did you pick it out of a book?” Loki guessed.

“No.” Roska’s voice had grown prickly, which made Loki more curious.

“Borrowed it from a beautiful woman?”

“No.”

“Did you track down your family and discover your name?”

“Of course not.”

“Well then?”

“Never you mind where it came from.” Roska frowned at him. “In fact, it might be best if you forget the name ‘Roska’ all together. You should refer to me as ‘the Draugr’. Giving you my – a name was a mistake.”

“Why?”

“Please do not ask me any further questions about it.”

Loki was far too curious, and not thinking clearly enough, to stop. “You gave me the name, so why take it back now?

Roska hunched her shoulders and said nothing, anger flaring in her expression.

“It is only a name,” Loki chuckled. “Surely nothing can be so terrible about it.”

Roska still said nothing. She rubbed her fingers together, curled them into fists. Her strides picked up, and Loki had to push himself to keep pace with her.

Loki thought, and came to a conclusion. “You are not supposed to have a name, are you?” A further inward curving of Roska’s shoulders confirmed his suspicion. “Well, that seems a ridiculous rule to me. Why should you not have a name? Maybe I should have a word with the Norns about coming up with less arbitrary –”

Magic slammed into him. Loki went flying back several body lengths and landed so hard that the rock beneath him splintered. He lay gaping up at the clouds in shock until Roska appeared above him to block his view, her face a furious storm of emotion.

“The Norns do _not_ make ridiculous rules,” Roska hissed. “The Children of Norn are not meant to have names because we are not meant to think of ourselves as belonging to anyone but Fate. I am the Draugr, just as the person was before me and the person before them. We are one in our service to Fate, and I was wrong and weak to ever choose a name for my own.”

Loki still thought the rule was ridiculous – clever on the part of the “Norns,” but certainly not something that most people would follow blindly. However, he also wanted to get up without being blasted by magic again because his head spun from the impact.

“I apologize,” said Loki. “I only asked because Roska is such a lovely name, but if you –”

Stone crunched beneath him as Loki was pushed further into the ground.

Roska leaned down. “You must think me very stupid.”

“No, I –”

“Well, I am not stupid. You have been friendly towards me as of late, and I have only seen you act that way when you desire something from someone and are playing them like a fool.” Roska trembled, and Loki winced as pressure mounted on his chest. “I am no one’s fool. Not yours. And not the Norns’, as you seem to think. I do not know what more you seek of me, but I will not play your game. Stop trying to make me like you. We are allies, not companions.”

It seemed that he had misjudged Roska, Loki mused. Or had he? That last part, it sounded like the kind of thing she would say if he were succeeding in his plan to win her over. But he had not been careful enough, not up to his usual standards of deception and not used to dealing with a person who knew him to an extent. Now he had to get himself out of this mess he had created.

“There is no game,” Loki promised, trying to appear earnest. “You did not seem to think much of how I was treating you as an ally, so I thought I should act accordingly.”

Roska regarded him with suspicion. “I am not sure I should trust you at your word.”

“Then you are indeed not stupid,” Loki remarked. Roska set her hands on her hips, and the pressure on his chest lessened, but did not disappear. He sighed. “And besides, I feel delirious half the time. I hardly know what I am saying.”

Roska’s eyebrows met in confusion, and the pressure abated. “What?”

Loki took a deep breath of free air. “Delirious,” he repeated. She had used that word what seemed eons ago, but was perhaps a month. Maybe more, maybe less. This whole journey continued to blend together. “I have not been sleeping well on this rock.”

With a heave, Loki pulled himself up into a sitting position and wanted immediately to sink back down. Roska’s hand appeared in front of his face. Loki almost ignored her hand, but decided that it would look better to take the offered help, so he did.

When he was on his feet, Loki let go, but Roska did not. She stared up at him intently.

“Yes?” Loki said.

Roska bit on the corner of her lip for a moment. “Show me your face. Without the illusion you are maintaining.”

Loki grimaced. He liked to look good, in both dress and physical appearance. Covering any signs of sleeplessness had been instinctive, even though it drained him to hold the illusion in addition to appearing visible to Roska. But since it would help his claims, Loki dropped the illusion. He did not need a mirror to know that his eyes were bloodshot and the skin beneath his eyes puffy and so purple as to appear almost black. He saw all he needed to see in Roska’s widened eyes.

“We will make camp here,” Roska instructed. “And you will sleep.”

If only it were so easy. Loki gave Roska a rueful smile. “If that is what you wish. Draugr.”

* * *

Roska lay curled on top of her bedroll, watching the flames of the fireglobe swell and shrink like the bellows of a forge. She was tired, but nowhere near the exhaustion she had seen on Loki’s face. She hooked a finger around the chain of one of her amulets and ran her finger up and down without purpose until the rhythm aligned with that of the dancing flames.

The burst of anger that had exploded from her with unexpected force had cooled to a lesser mixture of irritation and uncertainty. Roska did not know if Loki had been honest with her. It seemed like a trick, the way Loki acted around her. Being courteous and respectful toward her would have been fine, but being friendly, that Roska did not trust.

Loki caught her off guard with it. Roska spoke to others rarely, and when she did, each word was measured before it passed her lips, the conversation as much in her control as possible. While talking with Loki began that way, their conversations went on for so long that things would come out of her mouth that she would question later in the silences.

And the worst part was how she felt when they talked, conversing about books and magic and their pasts. Roska enjoyed their talks. She lost focus of more important matters such as testing for any faults that might make Loki a lesser king or finding ways to question him about Thanos. Her Choosing, her purpose, they were the farthest things from her mind.

When Roska had realized the pattern, she knew the wrongness of her actions. She was the Draugr. And yet, to her increasing alarm, she felt emotions rising to the surface, a flutter of pride when Loki finally understood a casting she attempted to explain, a bubble of nerves when Loki gave her an odd look and she wondered if she had said something strange, a pang of sympathy when Loki admitted to spending most of one nameday alone. She should not be having any particular emotions about anyone because it would mean that she liked them, cared about them.

The Draugr cared for no one. It did not matter if that person were someone she met, he as an infant and she a young girl, and they had grown together, and she had shadowed his steps. Fate twined her life with Loki’s for a reason, but that reason had to be her Choosing. Not because they were meant to become companions. Roska needed to stand firm her resolve as the Draugr, and not allow herself to become distracted.

Already sensing her failings as the Draugr, Loki questioning her name had set Roska off. She did not know what had possessed her to give him that name in the first place. She did not even know why she had attached that name to herself, and rarely thought about it. But Roska did know when she had picked the name.

It had happened on that day on Asgard with the children and the ball. Roska had stepped out from the alley and asked to play. The children had stared and took shuffling steps backwards, condensing into a tight group. Roska could remember the sensation of her stomach falling and the noise of the streets seeming to grow louder in her ears.

One of the boys at the front of the group, bottom lip jutting out and arms crossed, asked, “What are you?”

Roska stood there, fidgeting with her hands. She repeated what the Norns had told her. “I… I am from amongst your kind, but I am not like you. Not anymore.”

The children stared at her, and a few of them glanced toward the boy, who chewed his lip like he was attempting to bite through her answer and find the meaning inside.

“Who are you?” the boy tried instead.

“Draugr.”

The children looked confused. “What kind of name is that?” one of them demanded.

Roska had no answer.

The boy took a step forward, puffing up his chest. “Go away!”

Wetness formed at the corners of Roska’s eyes, and she turned back into the alley, hearing the gasps that followed her as she became invisible. Sounds around her multiplied, ringing in her ears as Roska darted across streets. And from that racket Roska chose a name right then. She just chose.

Roska turned over on her bedroll as she remembered that day. She had made a mistake. She had not been the perfect Draugr. But she would do better.

The point had been reached at which Loki’s troubled nights needed to be dealt with. His occasional bouts of odd silences or possible delirium could have been handled, but they would not be able to face Odin with him so exhausted or even the Preemond, who they should reach soon. Also, his pace lagged severely enough that they were losing more time than it would take to allow Loki a few days rest.

Closing her eyes, Roska pulled on the energies needed. She planned to experience Loki’s dreams for him. She had walked in dreams before. Having never remembered any of her own, she grew curious enough to view those of others. And twice she had influenced dreams to keep Fate on its course. She had never attempted this specific casting, but had done ones similar and knew the principal changes between castings.

The drain of energies nearly made Roska drop off into sleep too soon. She forced her eyes open to keep herself aware enough to extend a tendril towards where Loki lay. She felt a barrier, as though she had pressed a hand against an invisible wall. Loki was either not yet asleep, or not dreaming. She waited, occasionally extending the tendril again until –

_Roska jerked her head up. She was on a platform of rough, grey stone resting in space, connected to another larger platform by a carved set of stairs. She felt a force pressing over her mouth and reached for it. However, her arms barely moved. Pain shot through them as chains rattled. Roska was able to twist her neck a little, although a collar held her fast. There were cuffs on her wrists. The cuffs consisted of tarnished black and gold layers of metal fitted together in a specific pattern with symbols that would prevent the use of magic. The same metal would be around her neck and ankles, each piece connected by chains. She hung suspended above the ground at a forward angle, leaning on the tips of her toes for support._

_Resting her chin on her chest, Roska looked down at herself. She was naked, filthy, and covered with thin scars. The patterning of them matched those of a Frost Giant. She was filled with revulsion, jerking her head up despite the pain it caused her._

_A figure appeared on the platform, hooded, with long, skeletal arms. Roska recognized the figure and her skin prickled in fear. She wanted to raise her chin and sneer, but knowledge of what would happen made Roska look away. The figure glided closer, and she shifted on her toes away from it, praying to forces she did not believe in that it would only be physical pain, knowing it almost never was._

_“Roska.” Roska told herself that she must not look. No matter what she heard she must not look._

_But then she was looking right at her mother. Frigga’s mouth curled in disgust. “When Odin brought you to me, he told me that you were some other woman’s get from the war. That I could live with, but knowing what you are. One of them.”_

_Roska wanted to curl in on herself. She felt no more significant than a mud-stain on the floor of her mother’s pristine solar. An apology leapt to her mind, but she could not get it past the shield over her mouth._

_“At least I have Thor,” Frigga went on, her tone cheering considerably, though the effect of her words on Roska was quite the opposite. “You were never close to his equal. Thor, Thor is the perfect son.”_

_Tears of rage and shame built up in Roska’s eyes._

_“He is no monster.”_

_Suddenly, her back felt as if it were on fire. She had let her guard down, and the figure had crept up behind her. Her back. It hurt. Roska screamed, and –_

Roska woke with a start, reaching for her back. She breathed out an unsteady breath. She was not surprised Loki had not been sleeping well if he had such dreams. And since they plagued him so, Roska had to wonder how much of the dream reflected memory from his time with Thanos. Plenty, she guessed.

She listened, but Loki had not awoken. She had bought him peaceful sleep. The dreams would plague him again, though, if she did not reconnect the casting between them. So Roska closed her eyes and reached with the tendril of magic until –

_Needle-thin metal pushed through her skin. Roska looked down through eyes filled with tears of pain at the thousands of metal shards piercing her body. Blue spread from each puncture wound in patterns like cracking ice._

_“Leave her face,” said a voice. Thanos’ voice. “For now. Since she begged so nicely.”_

_Roska shuddered at the feeling of more shards being forced through her skin. She yanked backwards on her chains, but they tightened. She pulled desperately._

_And suddenly Roska staggered and landed on one knee in the throne room of Hlidskialf. She looked upward to where Odin sat on the throne. Roska rose to her feet, but Odin towered above her. He smiled, but it was Thanos’ smile. Their faces melded together as they grew larger. Roska stumbled back._

_Beside Odin/Thanos, Roska saw someone shaking her head, a woman who looked just like her. The woman opened her mouth._

Roska woke up before she could speak. If Loki was meant to see his own twin, she would have remained in the dream, but facing a version of herself made it infinitely harder to hold the casting. She reformed the broken tendril of magic and plunged back into the dream.

The dreams shifted again and again as Roska allowed Loki to sleep as long as he needed. She experienced the tortures of his dreams from physical lashings before a blurry crowd – the humiliation worse than the pain – to being thrown from the Rainbow Bridge in crystal clear detail that reflected a memory tampered by chaos magic. She hoped to find a reason for this torture, but none became apparent. Maybe there had been no reason, just Thanos chaining up Loki for his own amusement and forgetting about him until he was of use. She may never learn the truth.

Eventually, Loki woke. Roska meant to sit up and work out the cramps in her body from such a long time on her bedroll, but as she finally released the casting, she could not find the strength to open her eyes, and fell instead into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

When Roska woke, it was to a severely protesting bladder and tiny pinpricks of pain running along her left leg and up her back. She grimaced as she got up, legs wobbling.

Loki stood several paces away and appeared to be concentrating. He flicked one of his wrists and a small cage of lightning appeared before him. The bars did not quite meet, and the cage held for a mere moment or two, but the attempt was fair, especially because Roska had discussed the casting with him in theory only. It could drain a lot of energy if done improperly, and she did not want Loki killing himself over a botched attempt.

Roska sighed, disapproving but unsurprised that he would attempt the casting. She should have been more pointed in her warnings. She moved off to attend to her bladder and on the way back made herself visible.

Loki did not notice.

Roska reached out with her consciousness, shifting his casting, imbuing her own energy. The lightning cage stabilized, but Loki frowned at it, then over at her and dropped the casting.

“I am not the only one who needed sleep, it seems,” Loki noted.

Roska nodded. She crouched down to pack up her bedroll and the fireglobe and tucked them away in a pocket dimension.

Loki hovered over her, arms crossed, as she donned her armor. “You claim to have abilities such as the Sight. Are you a dreamwalker as well?”

“Not a particularly accomplished one,” said Roska, fastening one of her greaves. “But regardless, I did not walk in your dreams. I lived them for you.”

Loki’s jaw tensed. “I see.”

“Only for one night, or however long it was.” Roska looked up at him. “Do you deny you needed the sleep?”

Loki stared her down for a silent moment. “You could have asked.”

“It did not occur to me.”

Roska got up to put on her breastplate. Finished, she held Loki’s gaze. He was visibly angry, an expected reaction. He preferred not to speak about Thanos, and she had seen a lot more than Loki would have ever told her about. More than she imagined he would ever tell anyone about. She certainly would not want to tell anyone about those dreams.

Despite her resolve to remain impartial, Roska felt a stirring in her chest, that emotion like pity, but not quite. The one she felt when she thought of Asgard burning, but slightly different from that as well. She took a step closer to Loki.

“I want you to know that I will not ask about that time anymore,” Roska told him, a decision she made with less thought than should be given, but it felt like the correct choice. And this was her Choosing after all. “What happened to you – You are right, it does not diminish your ability to hold the throne of Asgard. Sometimes terrible things happen, but I have seen people rise above those things. Even if those things change them, that does not lessen their capacity for greatness. Of course, I will still be watching you closely, as is my duty. But I believe that what is important is that you will stand against Thanos and if you have any knowledge that will aid us in that fight, you will use it when the time is right. I know you laugh when I use this word, but I have faith. In Fate, and in you.”

The anger in Loki’s face had diminished. Slowly, he tilted his head, a single finger tapping against his arm as he considered her. He let a breath out through his nose.

“We have been here long enough.” If her speech had nearly been an apology for intruding, his statement was nearly acceptance. Loki unfolded his arms. “Let us be off.”

Roska nodded, took a few steps away from him, and they pushed onward.


	9. Átta

As with so many things on Niflheim, Roska heard Vergelmir before she saw it. The crash of waves reverberated with such strength that she barely recognized the sound. Roska was used to the gentle lap of water on Asgard’s shoreline. The waves of Vergelmir smashed against the rock surface of Niflheim like the front line of a charging army.

Roska stopped opening rifts and instead walked the remaining distance to Vergelmir. The water rose up in dark walls topped with grey foam. She stood just on the edge where the fallen waves could stretch their grasp no farther. Cold radiated from the water. The winds from the plains whipped into a frenzy. The surface of the well was not particularly beautiful, but from it rose tiny droplets of water that reflected the faint orange light so they appeared as small glowing orbs. The droplets formed streams and eddies and whirlpools as they lifted ever upwards to disappear in the hazy clouds.

If she had the time, Roska could have remained gazing up at the water droplets for days. She would have found the patterns, the connecting points, and perhaps guessed which realm the droplets were intended for. Roska knew she did not have the time, but she would allow herself a few moments of peace.

The journey had felt especially long ever since she had confronted Loki. Or since she had lived his dreams. Roska was not entirely sure which event had sparked the changes.

Determined not to fall prey to distractions, Roska refocused on her priorities. She had yet to come up with an end to her plan. Retrieve the Fang, kill the All-Father, and then… what? Loki needed to have a relatively secure hold on the throne. Should he defeat Thanos, his position would be clinched for millennia, but until then the other realms would, at the very least, need to fall in line as they did for the All-Father. Roska considered scenarios of having Loki create illusions of Odin giving him the throne, eliminating Thor, and other possibilities, but none of her ideas felt quite right. She spoke with Loki about it, but sparingly as neither one of them came up with anything workable.

Roska also took the opportunity to catch Loki up on what had been happening on Asgard since he was gone. She questioned him on a policy or potential issue between realms to hear his opinions. That niggling sensation at the back of her mind was thankfully quiet through all of it. No doubts.

Any other subject Loki brought up, Roska diverted back. He tried talking to her about magic. She brought up changes to the members of the Casters’ Table. He made mention of a market she had frequented. She spoke up on a minor fluctuation in the economy. Roska attempted to make the transitions feel natural, but unlike Loki, she did not have a gift for words.

Loki was often silent now. He looked annoyed, and more worrisome was that he often appeared bored. Roska feared that one morning she would wake up and he would be gone.

Only, Loki would not abandon her. No. Of course not. He knew that Thanos might attack Asgard, and that he needed to be on the throne, and that he needed her to get there. Loki would not have come with her all this way to leave right before they reached the Preemond.

Weeks dragged with those thoughts in Roska’s head. Strangely, most of her private debates were the same ones she had in the Filrar, but they did not feel the same. They had a weight that discussing books or magic did not. She recalled wishing for Loki to cease his endless chattering, but now that he was quiet, Roska wished he would talk more to fill up the silences with his musings instead of her concerns.

Roska gazed at the droplets swirling above her, imagining they were a river carrying her back to Asgard where her life had been more straightforward. The pattern changed, and Roska glanced over to her left. Loki had lifted a hand to split the stream in two.

They should not delay much longer.

“Wait here,” instructed Roska. “I shall return presently.”

Using the wind, Roska lifted herself up at an angle so as not to disturb the droplets. When she was high enough to overlook Vergelmir, she took out the book of maps. Someone had mapped out portions of Vergelmir. Roska matched up whirlpools and a couple of currents, and was pleasantly surprised to find that they were very close to the Elivagar. As soon as she spotted the mountain range, she would be able to take them up and over to Rijd’s Valley.

Roska lowered herself to the ground and beckoned to Loki.

“We are almost there,” she informed him.

As they picked up their pace, Loki asked, “So what exactly are we doing once we reach the Preemond? Will we be searching their camp?”

“If it comes to that,” Roska said. “But first, I will speak with their leaders.”

“I hope you do not intend to just ask nicely for the Fang.”

Roska tilted her head back and forth. That was, in essence, her plan. She would not tell the Preemond what she needed the Fang for, but she would explain the necessity of the situation, what her position was as the Draugr, and that she was only borrowing the Fang for a short period.

Loki scoffed. “The Preemond may be simple-minded, but I do not expect it will be quite _that_ easy to take the Fang from their grasp.”

“It may not be,” Roska granted. “But if the Preemond leaders do not give us the Fang, they will take additional precautions knowing someone is searching for it. Invisible, we will watch and listen to what happens after and hopefully the Fang’s location will be revealed.”

With a shake of his head, Loki stated, “This is not the best idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because by talking to them, you would be showing our hand. I have seen how tactful you are with others. Besides, Odin is stabbed just after the Fang goes missing? Even the Preemond are not dim enough to miss the connection.”

Roska pointed a finger at him. “You said yourself that almost no one comes to this realm, and the Preemond are not interested in any of the power struggles existing beyond Niflheim. And with the exception of yourself and Odin, no one is aware for a certainty that I exist.”

“Still. Someone might go looking, especially if everyone suspects that I killed Odin.” Loki gave her a small smile. “Which they likely will.”

“Well, they would not be wrong,” Roska noted. “But I am still working on that part of the plan. I am sure between the two of us we will come up with something.”

Loki did not look reassured. “Will we? Because months have passed and neither you nor I have come up with a viable conclusion to this venture. How long do you expect me to wait exactly?”

“Not long.” Roska did not want him to be waiting at all. Asgard needed Loki on the throne as soon as possible. “As long as we dispose of the All-Father, that is half the battle won.”

“I am less worried about that first half of the battle than the second. Claiming the throne has many complications. There is the matter of Thor, for example.”

Roska did not respond immediately. She had continued to debate with herself about what was to be done with Thor. The simplest solution might be to kill him, although both his and the All-Father’s death in succession would look highly suspicious. Also, that tiny niggling sensation in the back of her mind had an equally small voice that told her it might be best to leave Thor as an option for the throne, just in case anything were to happen with Loki.

“He will be dealt with as necessary,” Roska stated, for that was as much of a solution as she could offer.

“It will seem suspicious if the All-Father and Thor both –”

“I know. As I said, I am still working on the plan.”

“Perhaps you should have come up with an entire plan before enacting it.”

Annoyed at the blithe accusation in his tone, Roska retorted, “Perhaps you should have made more of an effort to be as likeable as Thor, and thus you would have allies on Asgard that might make this plot less difficult.”

A muscle twitched in Loki’s cheek. “Trying to be likeable did not seem to get me very far with you,” he asserted with a calmness that did not quite match his expression.

“Likeability is a distraction. Fate is objective, and so I make only objective decisions.” Loki chuckled, and Roska shot him an irritated glance. “That is amusing to you?”

“Quite.”

Roska had no desire to fight, and so bit back the question of exactly why he found her assertion so amusing. “Just let me know if you think of anything, and I shall do the same.”

But as much as Roska thought, she could come up with nothing that would ensure that Asgard stood behind Loki in taking the throne. The Aesir loved Thor, not his brother. If only she could make them see that Loki was the king they needed to keep Fate in balance, but it was not within her power to force them to understand. Even Loki did not wish to take the throne for that specific reason.

Roska imagined what would happen after the All-Father died. Thor was meant to become king. Suppose he did. On Midgard, Thor had asked Loki to come home. If Loki was there to offer advice, might Thor listen to him? If Thor made a decision that Loki suggested, the Aesir would swallow it whether or not they agreed. Thor made choices based too often on feeling, but he was not a complete fool and he did have much experience in battle. Should Thanos attack while Thor was king and Loki offered sound advice for how to defeat him, then that could keep Fate on a stable course.

Could she be making the wrong choice?

No. Roska knew better. Thor would act with his heart. Should strategies go astray, he would try to save as many people as possible instead of concerning himself with the larger threat. And after what happened on Midgard, she was not convinced Thor would listen to Loki. Or, to be fair, that Loki would agree to play advisor to his brother. Loki had to be the one on the throne.

At first Roska spotted lumps pressing upwards from the smooth ground, with a hazy quality that made them appear to be a mirage. Once Roska and Loki had moved closer, she realized that that the rising forms were the Elivagar. Excitement and nervousness twined in her belly. The Preemond should be just on the other side, and with them, the Fang of Fenrir.

Roska opened a rift to take them to the base. The mountains towered above them, made of the same black rock, but their surface was not smooth. The rock cracked and bumped, rising to jagged peaks coated with greyish snow. Above one of the highest peaks, clouds whirled in a dark tempest, lightning lashing the snow with whips of crackling white.

They set up camp there at the base where a hollow blocked most of the winds. Roska planned on making several long jumps between rifts to get them to Rijd’s Valley and needed to be well rested. When she woke, Roska also decided to change into a clean set of garments and washed herself in case the Preemond might find her odor offensive.

Roska took them high up the closest mountain. The air was frigid and the snow came up nearly to her shoulders, but Roska did not keep them in place long. She created rifts to take them across the Elivagar until she saw a familiar shape below them. Rock curved from the base of the mountain like arms embracing Rijd’s Valley. She brought them down to the outside of the right arm so as not to appear suddenly in the midst of the Preemond.

Sparse, dead-looking grass crunched underneath their feet. Roska wiped sweat from her brow and knocked snow from her boots as Loki pulled off his travel cloak to shake the snow free.

The Fang could rest right on the other side of the rock wall. Nerves rose inside Roska in a feeling not unlike falling, but less pleasant. This would go well. It had to. Fate rested on her ability to retrieve the Fang. Roska touched the twist of braids at the back of her head and checked her armor, making sure she appeared presentable.

When she looked up, Loki was regarding her with a grin. “I hardly think it necessary you worry about your appearance. It is not as if we are meeting with foreign dignitaries. The Preemond are barely above animals.”

“The Preemond will have a first impression of me,” Roska stated. “I would like it to be a good impression.”

Loki did not reply, but his lingering grin was enough of a response.

As they entered Rijd’s Valley, the unhealthy grass grew denser until it formed a thick carpet. Each footfall released a cacophony of snaps like bones breaking underneath their feet, an apt soundscape for this place.

Long ago, the Vanir queen Rijd had been exiled to Niflheim. She had claimed this valley where she lived with her family and a few loyalists who had been banished alongside her. History did not record what happened to Rijd and her people. The poisonous air should have claimed their lives eventually. Instead, a scryer tasked with keeping an eye on Rijd reported that she and the others had disappeared seemingly overnight leaving only grass stained wet with blood. From notes Roska had recovered in her search for information about the Fang, she suspected the Preemond were involved. This valley was one of their holy places after all, though Roska had no knowledge of the specific religious practices involved.

Roska estimated it was about a day’s walk from one side of the valley to the other and a few more to cover the valley in its entirety. Rather than spend days searching for the Preemond, Roska lifted herself up into the air high enough that she could look over the valley for their camp. She spotted a couple of small groves of trees and a rock formation close to the center of the valley. She saw the grass nearest to the entrance of the valley rippling in the faint breeze. What she could not find was the Preemond, or indeed any signs of their camp.

As her belly sank, Roska pulled herself up higher on the winds to see if the Preemond were still traveling towards Rijd’s Valley. Nothing caught her eye. Roska stared for several long minutes, waiting for a shift on the horizon. When the line remained flat and unmoving, she lowered herself to the ground. She felt an unpleasant sensation similar to when her astral form lifted out of her body, her skin not quite attached to her, her head expanding.

The Preemond were supposed to be here. She was sure she had calculated the length of the journey from Midgard with relative accuracy. Even if their route had taken longer than expected, it should not have been that much longer. And according to her research, the Preemond made a pilgrimage to Rijd’s Valley for years. If the information in the text she read had been accurate. If.

“Well?” said Loki.

“They are not here,” Roska admitted. “We… we must be early.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Or late.”

“No. They will come. We just have to wait.” Roska sat down, crossed her legs, and stared out at the horizon.

Sighing, Loki leaned against the rock wall and folded his arms.

They waited. Loki became impatient before long and stated that he was going for a walk. Roska was torn about whether to follow him, to protect him from meeting the same end as Rijd and also to ensure that he was close at hand when the Preemond did arrive. However, should anything arise, she could locate him in the valley by bending the light, and so she nodded and resumed her watch.

After a while, Roska decided that the rock wall was a better vantage point, so she perched on top. The horizon did not change. She tried closing her eyes for a time and opening them again. It did not help. She pulled her legs towards her chest, resting her chin on her knees. That tiny niggling sensation in the back of her mind had returned, only it was not small anymore.

“The Preemond have to come,” Roska whispered to herself. “They have to.”

The niggling sensation was not impressed by her conviction. It spread forward not only in her mind, but down her neck and into her chest, squeezing at her insides, making her feel ill.

Loki came and went as she sat – or slept – waiting.

Eventually, Roska decided to attempt casting the rune stones. She asked how close the Preemond were and threw the stones. They showed her blank faces. She tried asking when the Preemond had last been to Rijd’s Valley. No answer. She made the questions broader. Do they ever travel to Rijd’s Valley? Were the Preemond moving at all? No responses.

Beginning to wonder if she were doing something wrong in her frustration, Roska asked a question whose answer could not possibly have an effect on her Choosing. She asked where Loki was at the moment. The stones landed face up and from them she interpreted that Loki was in the grove of trees farthest from where she sat. Roska stepped up into the air and, sure enough, saw a tree shake as he bumped it.

Roska dropped to the stone wall. She sat with her legs dangling over the edge and scooped up the rune stones. She traced her finger over the carved ridges, remembering when the Norns had placed the stones in her hands and watched as she threw them for the first time. She had asked the question, “Who am I?” That might not seem a simple question to some, but the Norns explained that the answer for Children after their Birthing should be straightforward.

Carefully, Roska arranged the stones beside her as they had fallen on that day.

The answer had been relatively simple. Cold was the most obvious. She had been naked and wet, shivering at the temperature. The runes for Fate, Norns, Youth, and Death in their specific positions showed that she was a Child of Norn, specifically the Draugr. Child was also in line with Female, meaning she was a girl. Knowledge raised high above Bounty with a rune that meant something like Containment between the two relayed that she had a head filled with nearly too much information. Desire near Fate with a rune that could mean Sunlight or Happiness or a number of other things gave her pause, but Roska worked out that the combination in relation to the other stones meant she was eager to fulfill her duty to Fate.

While that much had not taken long to interpret, the final two runes had been problematic. The rune Erayz when turned nearly upside-down meant Tangled. The rune Ljk on its side meant Open. When used in combination, Erayz above Ljk indicated a problem and Ljk above Erayz meant a solution. When Roska had tossed the stones, these two runes had landed in perfect alignment. Roska had puzzled over the placement of the runes, attempting to incorporate them into the combinations of the other stones, but she could not make sense of their meaning.

The Norns in their wisdom had explained. One day she would be faced with a Choosing, so Fate was uncertain about the path she might walk. Roska had been very nervous that she might make a decision that would cause a problem rather than a solution.

She still was nervous.

Roska gathered the rune stones, the question already forming on her lips. She expected the stones to turn up blank, but even so she asked, the ancient language crackling in her mouth.

“Who am I?”

The stones clattered down. And landed with the runes facing up.

Roska spotted Erayz and Ljk immediately, still in perfect alignment. The runes indicated that she was a Woman, instead of a child. The runes for Draugr were there too, although the rune in the combination for Woman appeared closer to those for Draugr than the rune for Girl had been.

The rune stone in the center of the web drew her attention before she could interpret the rest. Roska picked it up. She had never asked for guidance and been answered with this particular rune in the alignment in which it had fallen, but she knew exactly what it meant.

Doubt.

Roska’s fingers curled around the stone, trembling. She was having doubts. Her plan to get the Fang, it was only a half-formed plan to start with and already it displayed signs of falling apart. The Preemond were meant to be at Rijd’s Valley, but they were not here and she had waited and waited. She could not wait forever. Loki would not wait. And if Thanos came to the Nine Realms… But what was she supposed to do? She had never needed a contingency plan. Fate guided her steps. Fate had taught her that there was a single solution if one just asked for it. But now she could not ask.

Veins rose on her hand as Roska clutched the stone tightly. There must be a way to put Loki on the throne. Otherwise her Choosing would be over. Unless she had already missed her chance, and she had to admit defeat for her Choosing to truly be at an end. She gazed down at the remaining rune stones and imagined seeing Erayz rising above Ljk. Problem. Thanos could attack and she would have failed to keep the balance of Fate.

Roska blinked at the tears forming in her eyes.

Below her, grass snapped as Loki approached. Although he was visible to her, Roska did not form the same casting. She did not want him to see her, not at this moment. She did not want to look at anyone. Her Choosing, it had felt like a responsibility, but never until right now had it felt like a burden, and one she wished to be free of. She hated herself for feeling that way.

Loki stopped and glanced around. He paced in a circle, occasionally looking upward like he expected that she was surveying the horizon from far above.

When she did not appear, his brow creased. “Roska?”

Loki walked a short distance away and back, inspecting the ground and his surroundings more carefully. He stuck one foot out in front of him in the area where they had been making camp, moving as though he might encounter her sleeping form. He stopped finally and appeared to be thinking.

Roska realized that Loki might decide she was gone, walk off, and not come back, at which point her Choosing would be forfeit. She wanted to curl up in a ball and not be responsible, to let it end. But that would mean regaining her Sight to see what terrible future she may have wrought. Instead, Roska made herself visible.

Loki spotted her out of the corner of his eye and turned. His lips moved, but he must have made a comment to himself for nothing he said reached Roska’s ears. He walked over to the bottom of the wall.

“Might I have a word?” Loki called up at her.

Reluctantly, Roska gathered up her rune stones and put them in their pouch, except for the rune stone in her hand. Doubt. She kept it between her fingers and opened up a rift so that she landed with a crack sitting on the grass.

“I take it there have been no sign of the Preemond?” Loki questioned.

Roska shook her head, a lump rising in her throat.

Loki appeared neither surprised nor disappointed. “I think it best we abandon this plan. I have not thought up a new plan yet, but I am sure I can come up with some way of landing myself on the throne. This has certainly been an entertaining distraction in the meanwhile.”

Roska stared at him. “An entertaining distraction?” she repeated faintly, each word shaking like the fist in which she held the rune stone.

Loki shrugged. “What else would you call it? The goal was not achieved, but at least the journey was not uneventful.”

Was that all she had done? Distracted them for a while? The lump in Roska’s throat rose higher, threatening to turn into a scream, one of anger or anguish.

“We will sleep. Then, we will go,” Loki commanded.

Desperation flattened the scream so that Roska could speak. “Just a few more days. The Preemond may still arrive.”

“I do not think so.”

“But we came all this way. Please.”

“No. You may stay if you wish, but I am leaving.”

“Where will you go? I have the book of maps.”

“And I studied it enough to know how to get to the gap that will take me to Asgard.” Loki turned his back on her. “You will not change my mind.”

Roska thought quickly. “At least allow me to give you a night of peaceful rest, for I will not have one regardless.” If she lived Loki’s dreams again, he would sleep longer, therefore giving her more time.

Loki glanced back at her with anger flashing in his eyes. “No.” His tone softened minutely. “A clever attempt to keep me here, but not clever enough, I’m afraid.”

As he vanished, Roska pressed her face to her hands. The rune stone felt cold against her cheek, and the weight of her failure crushed in. She squeezed her eyes shut and reached with the Sight. Fog swirled around her, dark and impenetrable. She was still in her Choosing. Unless Chaos was clouding her sight, surrounding the Nine Realms because she had failed.

“What would you have me do?!” Roska screamed into the fog. In one hand she clutched the imaginary string that tethered her to the physical dimension, in the other she clasped the amulet of Fate. “What would you have me do?!” Silence and swirling fog thickened around her. She was lost.

If Loki was not on the throne, she was of no use to Fate. Her decision-making had failed. The next Draugr could do better. They may find a way. Perhaps her path had been to realize that much. That she would doom them all, but another could give Fate a chance to remain in balance.

The ground beneath her feet tilted and shook as Roska followed the string back. When she opened her eyes, the real ground also shook. Tears ran down her cheek as she looked up at the hazy orange clouds, energy dark and light flowing freely out of her, tearing at the fabric of the world. A horrible grating, shuddering bellow rent the air.

Appearing in a flash, Loki shouted over the bellow, “Is this your doing?”

Roska did not reply. At her back, the rock wall split. Small rocks bounced against her shoulders and upturned face. She saw a large piece of the rock break off and come hurtling down towards her. Acceptance rallied in her breast. She had done what was right.

A force plowed into her and in a blink, Roska was not sitting, but on her back with Loki above her. He let go and looked at her with a cold authority.

“Stop this at once.”

The grass crackled as lines split the stone beneath it. Roska barely felt her consciousness in her body. “I… failed…”

“Because this one ludicrous plan to get the Fang of Fenrir from the Preemond did not work? There are other ways I might claim the throne.”

“You have not thought of any in months, or else you would be gone.”

“So you are giving up?”

Roska shook her head, her movements slow. “I am allowing the next Draugr to take my place.”

“Which is giving up.” Loki sat back casually. “If that is your choice, then by all means continue.”

A shard of irritation wedged itself into Roska’s mind. The flow of energies from her body tapered; the trembling and bellow of sound lessened. “Giving up is not the choice I am making. I am choosing to give my life so that a more capable Draugr can be selected.”

“I see,” said Loki with a nod. “You are saying that the Norns are fools for selecting you to be the Draugr in the first place.”

“No.” The trembling stopped as Roska sat up, annoyed that Loki was twisting her words. “The Norns are not fools, and they did not select me. I was chosen by Fate.”

“So then Fate made a mistake.”

“Fate does not make mistakes. I made a mistake.”

“What mistake?”

Roska frowned. Without being shown a true path by Fate, she could not pinpoint where she had gone wrong. “I – I do not know exactly where I made my first mistake, but I failed in my Choosing so –”

“Are you certain of that?” Loki interrupted.

Roska held out her arms to indicate the empty valley. “The Preemond are not here.”

“The Preemond have nothing to do with your Choosing.”

“What do you mean?”

Loki leaned towards her, losing some of his nonchalant air. “When I first asked you about your Choosing, you told me that you had chosen to make me king.”

“Yes,” Roska agreed.

“So why does that mean that the Preemond have to be involved?”

“The Fang –”

“The Fang does not necessarily have to be involved either.” Loki contemplated a point in the distance. “Likely I _will_ need to kill the All-Father, and the Fang of Fenrir would have made that much easier, but are Choosings meant to be easy?”

Her Choosing was the most difficult obstacle Roska had ever encountered, and the Norns had told her that a Choosing would test her. “No.”

“So allow me to find another way for us,” Loki offered. “If this journey has accomplished anything, it has allowed me to become acquainted with your skills.”

Roska knew then why Loki had stopped her from being crushed. “I am not a tool to be used by you.”

“I did not say you were,” placated Loki with hands raised. “Although if being one means I take the throne, does it matter?”

Roska contemplated. As long as Loki ended up on the throne as quickly as possible, that was the most important thing. He was right. Her main choice was to make Loki king. Perhaps their journey had not been useless, and if they regrouped, a new option might present itself. Another Draugr could offer a different solution, but Loki did make a fair point about learning what skills she brought. He would need to start nearly from scratch with a new Draugr as their talents varied.

When Roska lifted her eyes, Loki gave her a smile. “I could still use an ally.”

Roska folded her hands together and felt the weight of the rune stone trapped in her fingers.

“I am having doubts.”

Those four words might have choked her once, but they came out with surprising ease. They unstoppered a mental blockage inside her and more came pouring out.

“About myself, and about my choice to set you on the throne,” Roska explained. “Mostly I believe you are the king that Asgard needs, that Fate needs, but I… but there is no way to be certain. I have always known exactly what to do, what the consequences of my actions would be, but now there is a chance I could be wrong. With what happened during your time with Thanos and with who you have become, I just… Sometimes you make questionable decisions and you are vexing and you make me feel – feel like I might be wrong in putting my faith in you. I want you to be a great king, and I think you can be, but I cannot afford to be wrong.”

Loki tipped his head, looking intent in his silence. Roska thought she might have said something that did not make sense to him, though she knew not what.

“Do you understand what I am saying?” she asked.

“I understand,” Loki said. He appeared solemn. Moreover, he looked earnest, which could very well be a façade, but somehow Roska thought it was not. “I cannot offer many certainties, but I can tell you that I will never stop trying to become a great king.”

Roska blinked, sliding into the Sight. Still fog. Possibly Chaos, but likely her Choosing had not yet reached its end. She blinked again and looked at Loki. She had to have faith that Fate had selected her for a reason, and that she should trust her instinct. And so she should trust Loki, to an extent anyway. Enough to make him king.

“Then I am still your ally,” Roska declared.

Loki broke his solemnity with a grin. “Good. Because it would be a much longer walk to the gap without you.”

As he spoke, Roska spotted something behind him that made her heart lift.

“Except we will not be heading to the gap yet. Fate has sent us a sign,” Roska stated. When Loki’s brow furrowed, she pointed behind him. One of the Preemond was coming their way.


	10. Níu

When Roska exclaimed that Fate had granted them a sign and indicated a point over his shoulder, Loki looked behind him with the expectation of seeing some vague change in the landscape or animal that Roska would interpret to mean that they should stay in Rijd’s Valley for another fortnight. He did not anticipate seeing one of the Preemond loping towards them.

Loki had tramped across every blade of grass in the valley and he had not spotted a shred of evidence that anyone, be they Preemond or Vanir – or Aesir for that matter – had come to Rijd’s Valley. He had examined groves of trees that bore clusters of globular fruits the color of pale flames. After eating dried strips of meat and produce for so long, the fruits looked very appetizing, but he did not dare consume anything grown in this toxic realm. While the food source did look plentiful, the bounty appeared untouched. Many of the fruits had fallen to the ground and lay rotting at the base of the trees. A large boulder split nearly in two rested in what seemed to be the direct center of the valley. Loki tested it with a few castings and some physical prodding, but receiving no response, he lost interest in it.

To give Roska one last chance, Loki had walked a final loop around the valley as he contemplated what his next steps should be. Not locating the Fang was unfortunate, but he had never been certain of finding the weapon.

If memory served, the gap to Asgard did not lie too far from Rijd’s Valley. Truth be told, he missed the realm. Even if he felt like a person apart at times, Asgard was his home. Mayhap he could convince Roska to show him where the “Draugr” took up residence, for it must be well hidden. He might take refuge there while he plotted.

Or he might not. Roska had become quite the conundrum, and Loki was unsure what to do about her. Even if he did not currently have a plan to take the throne, Loki had a feeling that her abilities and knowledge would be very useful. He had tried to become closer to her for that reason, but now she blocked his every attempt to be companionable. That Roska felt the need to divert his attentions meant that she _was_ growing fond of him despite herself. But the wall she had thrown up meant he had reached an impasse. Loki did not like being faced with someone whose actions continually blocked his intentions. It made him feel less than clever.

Although, he would take facing such a problem over that problem being crushed by falling rock. Loki acted instinctively to pull her out of the way, opening rifts that were far enough apart to make him feel queasy in order to save Roska. Hel if he was going to trek to the gap in thrice the amount of time it would take Roska to get them there, and the loss of her talents would be a waste besides. Then, he would have truly walked across Niflheim for nothing.

But apparently the journey might yet work toward their original plan.

Loki eyed the Preemond figure moving closer. It was short – though a hand’s width or so taller than Roska – with a thick abdomen. Its two legs bent like an insect’s, the right leg broader than the left, giving the Preemond an uneven gait. Its spine curved as though it was leaning backwards, but the position displayed a series of hard platelets on its chest. Its limbs, which tapered to points, could be used to beat the platelets in order to form a language in conjunction with the three vertical slits above the platelets that served as a mouth. A single lidless eye stared forwards, and another was revealed directly behind the front eye as the Preemond hurried past.

Roska got to her feet wearing a smile so bright that it almost eclipsed the fact that she had attempted to kill herself moments ago. She took a step toward the Preemond, but Loki, also rising, grabbed her wrist. He put a finger up to his lips and then beckoned her towards the entrance to the valley. Roska looked between him and the Preemond. She gestured towards the being as though he might be blind enough not to see it. Loki beckoned her again with equal insistence, willing Roska to trust him. She hesitated, but nodded and tucked a rune stone he had not noticed into her pouch before following him.

Just around the lip of the cracked rock wall, Loki stopped.

Roska whispered, “What are we doing? The Preemond are here.”

“And your plan is still to speak to their leaders?” Loki questioned.

“Yes.”

“Well, I have a better plan.” Loki did not believe Roska was tactful enough to manipulate the situation in such a way that they could retrieve the Fang and leave behind an impression of who took the weapon that would not be traced back to him. But he did believe in his own persuasive abilities. “Allow me to speak for us.”

Roska shifted on her heels. “I know more about the Preemond. You might offend them.”

Loki snorted. With their superstitious drivel and barbaric customs, the Preemond should be in awe of someone who displayed civility and interest towards them. Yet, he supposed Roska had a point. The Preemond might turn him away if they thought he was mocking… whatever it was they worshiped.

“Then you may correct me, and I will smooth things over,” Loki offered. “Fair enough?” When Roska did not immediately accept, he added, “If we continue to debate over this, the Preemond may disappear again.”

Roska let out her breath in a huff. “Fine,” she agreed. “I will follow your lead.”

As they were now in agreement, Loki cast illusions to change their appearance to those of Light Elves. Their skin became so pale as to appear almost translucent. Their ears lengthened and tapered to sharp points. Their eyes narrowed and turned a pristine white. Loki shrank while Roska grew so that they were of a height and both so thin that a gust of wind would seem likely to topple them. His dark hair was now a mass of thick red waves bound in a leather thong, while Roska’s many braids became a single braid of white-blonde. Intricate tattoos covered the backs of their hands and spread up along one side of their necks like a stem of a flower that blossomed across their faces in miniscule symbols.

For the most part, Loki created random tattoos, but beside each of their eyes he formed a mark that looked like a nonagon that had been crossed out. It was a symbol of those who called themselves the “Hwya Resistance,” a meddlesome group that thought Asgard should not have final say in the goings-on of the other eight realms. Surely no one would suspect him of forming an allegiance with those upstarts.

Roska glanced over herself and gave him a look of approval. “A wise choice. Light Elves do travel the most frequently between realms.”

“And they have no gender,” Loki added, smirking at his own cleverness. “So there is not even a shred of evidence to show I was here for a certainty. Now.” He stepped around Roska. “Let us go retrieve the Fang of Fenrir.”

On the other side of the rock wall, the Preemond had multiplied. Two of them stood around the cracks in the ground and wall tapping on their chests, but not loudly enough for Loki to distinguish their meaning. He conjured up an expression of immense relief and held up a hand in greeting. One of the Preemond noticed him, and the other looked over moments later. They rose higher on their larger legs in a posture Loki assumed was meant to be threatening.

“We are very glad to have come across you,” Loki said. He forced his tongue to move with less precision so that his All-Speak would not sound perfect while still being understandable. “When the ground split open in the quake just now we lost most of our supplies, and we are a long way from our spacecraft. Can you help us?”

The Preemond stared. Loki kept the relieved, friendly look on his face, not surprised in the least that these beings should be slow.

“The quake is your doing?” one of the Preemond asked at length, the quality of its voice clipped like the taps it made on its chest. These two must be scouts sent to investigate the disturbance.

Loki shook his head. “It surprised us. Are quakes not frequent in this part of your realm?”

“No.” The Preemond looked to its partner. “They will come with us?”

“They will come with us,” the second Preemond confirmed. “They have purple markings. Purple is good.”

“But they wear grey garments. Grey is bad.”

“But their skin is white. White is good in a pale orange time.” The second Preemond glanced up at the orange haze of clouds. “Unless the orange darkens.”

“Unless it darkens.”

The Preemond walked off still yammering away, leaving Loki and Roska to follow them. The association between the Preemond and colors seemed familiar, but Loki could not recall any details from the two or three paragraphs he had read during his tutoring.

“What are they going on about?” Loki murmured to Roska.

“Colors are integral to the Preemond’s belief system,” Roska explained as though that much was not obvious.

“But how? Do they take specific actions against those with ‘bad’ colors?” Loki remembered the tale of Rijd’s disappearance and wondered upon her fate. “Are there colors we should be avoiding?”

“A few different shades of light blue. There is a shade of green that is considered holy. It’s the color of their blood.”

Loki waited, but Roska did not elaborate further. “That is all you know? You made it sound as though you studied the Preemond extensively.”

“I said no such thing,” Roska contradicted. “I said I know more than you, which is true because I located an ancient text on the Preemond that few have seen. It was written by a scholar who studied them for a brief time after Rijd’s disappearance. Unfortunately, the text was incomplete and falling to pieces.”

“Wonderful,” Loki muttered. “I shall just avoid discussing everything that can be associated with a color then, shall I?”

“You managed to talk your way out of Sif throttling you after you cut off her hair. I am sure you can talk us out of trouble with the Preemond.”

Loki grimaced at the childhood memory. Roska must have only seen the initial confrontation, not the later part when Sif turned up at combat practice – a time he abhorred in his early days as he had been forced to train with swords, axes, and other weapons at which Thor excelled – and soundly beat him in front of his peers. Odin had insisted that his wounds not be treated as a lesson, and so Loki was further humiliated until his mother took pity on him and went against the All-Father’s wishes.

But, not wanting Roska to doubt him or to relive that embarrassment, Loki replied, “Yes, I suppose I can.”

The Preemond led them to the rock formation in the center of the valley. One of the Preemond lifted an arm over the split in the rock. It pressed another arm against the first and made a sawing motion. Blood welled up over its hard skin, a deep green close to that of Loki’s battle garb. The blood dripped into the split. The rock shuddered. A low grating sounded from deep within the earth, and the rock split open to reveal a hole large enough to climb into and a set of carved stairs leading down.

Loki felt a twinge of trepidation as he looked into the hole. Being trapped underground in an unknown terrain was not wise strategy. He imagined he could see the bones of Rijd and her followers down there. Yet, Rijd might have been caught unawares, which he would not be. And Rijd did not have his intellect nor Roska’s power. Between them, the Preemond were hardly a match.

They descended into a tunnel. Glowing crystals mounted on the walls lit their way, casting wide swaths of brilliant hues. Loki made note of the colors. He assumed the Preemond would only use crystals with “good” colors to illuminate their sacred place.

Loki also noticed the cracks in the walls and pieces of rubble on the ground. The quake Roska had created in her despair had reached a fair distance. He hoped this did not mean the structural integrity of the tunnel had been compromised. Buried alive was far from how he wished to spend his last moments. He would have to keep an eye out for anywhere that seemed particularly unsafe.

The tunnel grew wider, the percussive beat and thrum of Preemond speech echoing against the rock until the space opened into a wide cavern. At a quick glance, Loki estimated perhaps a hundred Preemond were in the cavern. Likely this was the lot of them, for none of the populations of autonomous beings on Niflheim were very large. The Preemond moved about or sat together. He noticed a pair that seemed to be attached along one side, as though their limbs had grown into each other’s bodies. They did not walk with the loping gait of the individual Preemond as their thick legs were on opposite sides, allowing them to balance. Once he saw the one pair, Loki spotted a few more.

His attention was drawn to the light source at the center of the cavern. A large formation of crystals ran from the floor to the ceiling, tapering in the center. The crystals had a deep green hue, just like the Preemond blood, but more distracting was the fact that three of the Preemond seemed to have speared themselves on jutting crystals. One of the figures twitched, while the other two moved not at all. And no one appeared to be paying them any attention. Likely this was a part of a ritual. Loki barely kept his lip from curling in disdain at the savagery of it.

Slowly, the cavern quieted as the Preemond noticed the newcomers. A pair rose from the ground and came forward. Their skin was cracked and more leathery than that of the Preemond scouts, giving the impression of age. Closer up, it did appear that their limbs had been forcibly inserted into each other’s bodies. Puckered scarring ran along the edge of where their highest arms would have been.

A scout spoke to the pair. “Tattatick, we found these two on the surface. They say that their supplies were swallowed in the quake.”

Tattatick – Loki had no idea whether that was a name for one of the pair or a title for them both – eyed Roska and Loki as Tattatick the Left addressed the scout.

“Is it a pale orange time?”

“Yes.”

Tattatick the Right noted, “White is good in a pale orange time.”

Loki had no desire to listen to more nonsense. “I am Mariel of Alfheim,” he interjected. Loki laid a hand on Roska. “This is my choice-mate Kaliel.” Roska’s shoulder, already tense, grew stiffer under his touch. Loki squeezed her shoulder so she would not attempt to step out of his reach. “We would be grateful for any assistance you could give us.”

“What kind of assistance?” Tattatick the Right asked.

“Fresh water for the journey back to our spacecraft would be much appreciated if you have it. And directions we might follow. We lost our maps and notes, and, as I am sure you know, the terrain can be treacherous.”

“How far is your spacecraft?”

“Quite a distance. West of the Filrar.”

Tattatick the Left noted, “You have traveled a long way.” The corners around its eye tightened in suspicion. “It is unusual we come across anyone unless they were banished here. Have you committed treason?”

Loki smiled, thinking how dim this being must be to imagine a criminal would confess. Although, he supposed some criminals would be stupid enough to do so. They had been careless enough to get caught.

“No,” Loki assured the Tattaticks. “We are scholars. If anyone has committed a crime, it is our predecessors for never attempting a comprehensive study of Niflheim. We hope to remedy that.” He cocked his head as if an idea had struck him. “I wonder – Well, I would not wish to impose, but might we beg your hospitality for a short time? Not much is known about your people, and Kaliel became very interested when she discovered a text on your culture.”

Loki looked to Roska for confirmation, a mistake on his part because Roska said nothing for a beat too long before glancing at him.

“I… read a text, yes,” Roska agreed. “An incomplete one. I was hoping to speak with you about one of your ancestors from long ago. His name was Rttiulz, and I believe he was also a Tattatick.”

Rustling went around the cavern like a gentle wind tossing leaves in a circular gust around the large crystal.

Loki cursed himself for giving Roska a chance to speak. “Patience, dear one,” he chuckled lightly. To the Tattaticks, he tipped his head in a bow. “My apologies. Kaliel is sometimes too eager. We do not mean to overstep. We simply want to understand your people so that others will also.”

Beating its chest and the flaps of its mouth vibrating harshly, Tattatick the Left stated, “Other races do not wish to understand. They think of us as lowly creatures.”

“Maybe that is an old prejudice that can be changed. As you say, almost all who come here are criminals banished to die. They do not bring stories back home. We will. Your story can be amongst those we tell if you would like. That is up to you.”

The Tattaticks considered the offer in hushed thrums of their mouths. Loki was already confident in their acceptance, even if a bit more persuasion was required. Every leader alive desired to pass on a legacy of some form, and to have an audience ready to listen was a rare opportunity for the Preemond. He could nod in all the right places, flatter when appropriate, and, when the moment was right, steer the conversation towards the Fang.

The Tattaticks turned to their assembled people. “Since this is a matter that concerns us all, we shall put it to a vote,” declared Tattatick the Left.

Loki folded his arms. What was the point of having a leader if the rabble made the decisions?

“Should we allow these two, Mariel and Kaliel of Alfheim, to bring our teachings back to their people? Or should we sacrifice their lives to the _Kutatuh_ for intruding on holy land?”

Cold prickled along Loki’s spine. He had not expected a response quite so extreme. It seemed he may have to talk himself and Roska out of trouble after all, but should he speak up now or wait for the outcome? He remained mostly sure of a positive response. The Preemond were simple-minded and should be swayed. Still, he preferred swaying the opinions of a few high-ranking members to having to be confident in the opinion of the masses.

Roska stepped forward, his hand sliding from her shoulder. “If I may speak.”

Loki cleared his throat. Apparently Roska was making a decision for him. “Dear one, why don’t I take this? I know how you feel about speaking before a large audience.”

Tattatick the Left commanded, “Let them speak.”

Loki pursed his lips, inwardly fuming that this being had the authority to silence him. Whatever Roska was about to say could only worsen their chances of being allowed to stay here. She had agreed that he should be the one to speak for them. And yet. Her visibly apparent nerves under the collective gaze of the Preemond did nothing to bolster his confidence.

“I wish to make something clear. It has been stated that we will bring your story back. That is untrue. Your story is unimportant,” Roska declared, and Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. This was already worse than he had thought. “What matters more are your beliefs, for what you believe in shapes who you are and thus the stories you live. So before you consult your _tupuhkas_ , please know that I respect that which is important to you and hope that others will learn to as well.”

Roska bobbed her head in a hasty bow and crossed her hands over each other before retreating. She appeared as though she would very much like to resume a state of invisibility.

Meanwhile, Loki had been scanning the cavern in an effort to gauge the reaction. As the Preemond did not have faces like the Aesir, determining their exact emotions was no simple task, but he could not discern any hostility in their postures. In fact, they seemed to have relaxed somewhat. Tattatick the Right appeared to eye Roska with interest rather than anger, although Loki was not certain of Tattatick the Left.

Once it was obvious that no more was going to be said, Tattatick the Left announced, “Think on what has been said. We will take a vote once all of the scouts have returned.”

With that, the Tattaticks began tapping quietly on their chests in a private debate. The rest of the Preemond chattered amongst themselves or concentrated elsewhere. A few of them pulled out small crystals to, presumably, consult in their decision-making.

Loki took Roska by the arm and tugged her closer to the cavern wall where they might whisper to each other without being overheard.

“That was… well done,” Loki admitted. He should have thought to play on the Preemond’s religion. That Roska had come to the conclusion was a surprise. She never struck him as the type to discern how best to sway the opinion of a room. “ _Tupuhkas_?”

“A tupuhka is a kind of colorful aura the Preemond claim to have,” Roska clarified, fidgeting with her hands. “And did I truly do well? I have never spoken in front of so many people before, but we agreed that I should correct you when you err.”

“I am not sure I made an error of any kind precisely.”

Roska smiled in such a manner that said she knew otherwise. “You have never spoken to the Norn’s Fateful, have you?”

Rather than admit he would prefer sticking his face in hot embers than listening to anyone drone on about their religion – after all, Roska had discussed the Children of Norn at length – Loki chose the more tactful, “I have never felt the need.”

“If you did, you might know that one’s beliefs are held in higher esteem than one’s own history, at least in many cases.” Roska gestured to the Preemond. “Those from other realms laugh at them. All they want is to be a part of something greater than themselves, and for others to understand their cause. Do they deserve to be mocked for that?”

Loki lowered his voice further. “It does if their cause is nonsense. They should pick a better cause to stand behind.”

Roska leaned against the wall and looked at him. “If they pledged to die so that you might sit upon the throne, would that be a ‘better cause’?”

“Obviously. It would have an actual, visible effect worth the cost.” Loki glanced over at the still twitching body of the Preemond impaled on the large crystal. “Instead of whatever that was meant to do, I’m sure.” He gave her a pointed look. “Or what you were going to do.”

“I will concede that my earlier actions might have been untimely,” Roska allowed. “But as for him, how do you know?”

“How do I know?” Loki repeated incredulously. “Because that Preemond probably killed itself for stepping in mud that was the wrong color.”

“Or maybe, for example, it saw the orange of the sky and thought it was a sign that today its life should end in order to bring something good. And its blood will feed into the ground, and from that blood will grow a strange but beautiful tree with delectable fruits that are edible for any and all to eat, so from this barren wasteland an empire will spring.”

“In the unlikely event that were to happen, it would be a mere coincidence,” Loki stated.

Roska shook her head. “There is no such thing as coincidence.”

“Of course. Because you believe that everything is fated.”

“Everything _is_ fated.” Roska lifted a hand. “Most everything. A Choosing is the exception, although Choosings are fated to happen in their time.”

“If there is one exception, does it not follow that there might be others?” Loki pointed out.

“Not necessarily.”

“But possibly.”

Roska sighed. “I should think you would be glad that I believe in Fate. It is why I am supporting your claim. My first act as Draugr involved you, and I feel that must mean something.”

“I would be glad if you chose me of your own accord. Because you think I am capable,” Loki asserted. He should take an ally however he came by them, but her words bit with an unexpected sting.  

Roska furrowed her brow. “I do think you are capable. Please do not misunderstand me. That initial meeting is not my only reason. And just because I have some doubts does not mean I have changed my mind.” She touched his arm. “I am here because I choose to be. And although having no guide to show the way means I cannot know the outcome of this venture, I think I will be pleased to see you – That is, I will be proud – I mean…” Roska lowered her gaze and noticed her hand. She jerked it away. “I mean, I am almost entirely certain that Fate will continue on its stable course because of us.”

Her response placated him, but more than that, Loki noted her blushing cheeks, which would have been hidden from him under Roska’s naturally dark skin. The rise of color intrigued him in conjuncture with her words. Loki grinned. He had thought that by clamping down on his attempts to befriend her, Roska was managing to distance herself from him. But perhaps she did not feel nearly as aloof as she would like to be.

* * *

Roska would have much preferred if this situation had gone differently. The theatrics of a vote and speaking before the Preemond might have been avoided if she had gone up to the scouts and asked for a private audience with the Tattaticks to explain her predicament, but Loki had not given her much choice.

Deception made her uncomfortable. She was not in the habit of acting as anyone other than herself unless it was absolutely necessary. Nor was she in the habit of speaking in front of a crowd. The combination had her so muddled that she tripped over her own tongue.

Which Loki did not fail to notice. “As long as you are well pleased with me.” The corners of his eyes crinkled in unvoiced laughter. “I mean, with Fate staying on course.”

His hand brushed her waist, and Roska jumped. She made to take a step back, but Loki held her in place.

“The Preemond might think it strange if my choice-mate does not tolerate my touch,” he warned.

“Then perhaps you should have said I was a colleague,” Roska countered. Even though it was a deception, the notion of others believing she had a romantic partner felt like she had broken one of the fundamental rules of being a Child of Norn.

“Where would be the fun in that?”

“This is not about fun. This is about being convincing.”

“Having you as my choice-mate _is_ the most convincing option. If I said you were family, well, families can be traced should anyone come asking. Travelling with a colleague, that is acceptable, but it did not feel quite right. Choice-mates spend decades traversing different realms and galaxies after their mating ceremony, always trying to outdo other couples. Besides, I thought you would appreciate _choice_ -mate.”

Loki pulled Roska closer so that she pressed up against him, their noses almost touching. Roska struggled against the instinct to extricate herself from his hold. An uncomfortable sensation built in her chest, tapping its fingers against the walls of her ribcage like it was a prisoner searching for an escape. Or trying to get her attention.

“And I can be perfectly convincing,” Loki purred. “Can you?”

Roska did not know. She had never closely observed the customs of Alfheim. She barely understood the rituals of courtship on Asgard. But Roska did know that she had no option but to try. If their deception was revealed, the Preemond would act against them instead of revealing the location of the Fang of Fenrir.

“I suppose we shall see,” Roska said, lifting her chin.

“I suppose we shall,” Loki agreed.

Much to Roska’s relief, Loki let her go and the sensation withdrew its hands as well. She turned from him but consciously did not move away as she observed the cavern’s occupants. The Tattaticks carried on a discussion. They had bonded long ago from the look of the scarring. The left Tattatick was female, as her left foot was larger than her right, while the opposite was true of her male counterpart. Roska remembered reading that bonding was a rarity and looking over the Preemond, she could see that it was true.

While her focus must be towards finding the Fang, Roska was curious about the Preemond’s culture. She wondered if it would be rude to ask about bonding. If so, she was less interested in that ritual than about their auras.

From the text she had read, the Preemond believed they had a celestial aura. These auras had various colors and meanings, and supposedly the Preemond could see the auras of others as well as their own. Whether or not auras existed, Roska did not know, but she was open to the possibility. She did not know all the mysteries of the Nine Realms. Perhaps she would have known the answer immediately after being dipped in Mimir, but time and lack of use had eroded portions of her knowledge. No being was meant to have a memory so all-encompassing, not even the Norns, although their knowledge was quite vast.

Eventually, the scouts returned. They spoke with the Tattaticks and were allowed time to think before the vote was called for. Roska tugged at a corner of her tunic, praying to Fate to guide the Preemond’s decision. Loki wrapped an arm around her waist, which did not make her any less nervous.

“All those who think we should sacrifice their lives to the Kutatuh?” the female Tattatick asked.

Although Roska had not known what the Kutatuh was, the way several of the Preemond glanced at the large crystal in the center in the cavern gave her a sound guess.

Limbs were raised. Half of the Preemond? More? They were lowered before Roska could count them up.

“Those who think we should allow them to learn from us?”

Those who had not voted before raised their limbs. Roska could see that the tally must be close.

The Tattaticks brought their limbs against their chest in a sound that was not words, and so did not convey meaning to Roska and Loki. Roska shifted, ready to place herself in front of Loki and form a shield in case he was unable to talk them out of a fight.

“It is decided,” the female Tattatick announced. “They may stay and learn our ways.”

Breath whooshed out of Roska. She sent out a prayer of thanks to Fate as she crossed her hands in front of her in a sign of respect to the Preemond, nudging Loki with her elbow so that he would do the same. A few of the Preemond returned the gesture.

The Tattaticks moved to address Roska and Loki, and behind them the Preemond resumed their daily activities.

“You may ask of our people anything you wish,” the male Tattatick invited. “Once a vote has been decided, it is against our laws to disobey.”

Loki dipped his head. “We appreciate the opportunity and your hospitality. You have offered us a priceless gift, and we shall be glad to share it with the other realms.” He indicated the cavern. “Perhaps we can start with why this place is so sacred to you.”

The female Tattatick tapped two of the platelets on her chest. “Speak first with the people. It is from them you will learn the most.”

Roska thought that might be the end of the discussion, but Loki was not swayed. “While I am sure that is true, as their leaders I would think you could give us a general understanding of your customs so that we will know the right questions to ask.”

The male Tattatick assured them, “You will understand.”

“But if –”

The female Tattatick interrupted, “There will be chances for us to converse, but we must now meditate as the time of _Whutah_ is almost upon us.” She pointed an appendage towards the other Preemond. “They will prepare you.”

Anger made Loki’s gaze hard, but he quickly softened it and acquiesced. “Very well. We would not want to inconvenience you at such a time.”

The Tattaticks left them, vanishing around the other side of the crystal pillar. Roska watched them go. While it would have been preferable to speak with them at once, she knew the importance people placed on their rituals. And another of the Preemond could still lead to the location of the Fang.

“Have you any idea what _Whutah_ means?” Loki asked her, but Roska could only shrug.

“I presume we shall find out.”

Roska searched the cavern for someone to meet her gaze. When one of the Preemond did, she offered a smile, but the being – Roska could not see its legs to determine a gender – quickly looked away. Roska felt like she had when being rejected from playing ball with the other children. She crossed an arm over her chest, rubbing beneath her shoulder. What if none of the Preemond wished to speak with her? But some of them had voted for herself and Loki to stay, so they must be willing to talk. Only she was not entirely sure how to pick them out, not without studying the Preemond’s behavior first. Had the female closest to her voted for them to stay? Or no, the other female beside her?

Nervously, Roska looked to Loki for guidance. He also assessed the cavern, but did not seem troubled about it. She saw the corner of his placid smile twitch up higher and followed his gaze. One of the Preemond beckoned them.


	11. Tíu

The Preemond had not selected their places around the cavern in any pattern that Roska could discern. Some groups were clustered so tightly as to block any avenues for walking, while others sat apart in silent vigil or contemplation of the crystal pillar known to them as the Kutatuh. So as not to disturb anyone, Roska attempted to pick her way through their midst with care. Until it became clear that Loki had no such intentions.

Loki strode forward with a certainty that demanded the Preemond should part before him, which many of them did. Those who would not move, Loki swerved around with a confidence that dared anyone to suggest he had not meant to walk in that direction in the first place. Roska followed in his wake, shooting apologetic glances and wishing she could take Loki aside for a sharp word. To think he had been concerned about _her_ lack of tactfulness.

The Preemond who had beckoned them was a female. The eye on the front of her body looked bright, and the platelets on her abdomen soft and unworn. She had to be young, although that was a relative term where the Preemond were concerned. Roska had read that the Preemond could live anywhere from one to ten thousand years. Supposedly, their life expectancy defied any specific pattern, at least according to the author of the text.

“ _Tuum tyah ahttum_ ,” the female greeted. She spread out her limbs. “Please sit with me.”

“My thanks,” Loki replied, sitting across from her.

Roska added, “Yes, thank you.”

The female crossed two limbs in the gesture Roska had understood to mean respect, but added a third to intersect them. “I wanted to speak with you before others decided to try. We never have visitors. It is exciting.”

“We are excited for the opportunity to speak with you as well,” Loki stated. “I am Mariel, and this is my choice-mate Kaliel.”

Roska grimaced. She did not think it necessary that Loki introduce her as his choice-mate every time he spoke.

“Why is it you identify yourself in that way?” the female asked.

Loki looked uncertain. “What do you mean?”

“Names,” the female said. The pronunciation had a strange lilt as though she was unused to the word. “I have heard others refer to themselves with odd sounds, but it has never been explained to me. Do you choose your names? What meaning do they have?”

“Do you not have names?”

“No.”

No names? Roska tipped her head in confusion. But the Preemond who had been given the Fang, his name had been Rttiulz. The journal fragments had said so, and she had found a firsthand account specifically stating that one of the Preemond had called himself “Rttiulz.” The appearance of the Preemond as a race was distinctive. She thought it highly unlikely that a mistake could have been made. And there had been that whisper of voices around the cavern when she mentioned him.

Roska spoke up. “But what about Rtt–”

“You identify yourselves in another way then,” Loki said. He glanced at Roska, and though he kept his smile, she could see the warning in his expression. It was too soon to speak of such things.

Roska curled her hands in her lap and bit her bottom lip. Having committed to Loki’s way of retrieving the Fang, she would need to be more careful. She did not have the wherewithal to speak in a less than direct manner, but she did have much experience in observation. She should listen for any important details and speak only to correct Loki as necessary.

“Our auras,” the female explained.

Loki nodded. “Ah yes. Kaliel mentioned you have the most useful talent of being able to see beyond what our eyes can detect.”

In addition to speaking in too forward a manner, Roska would not have been able to craft her words into such flattery. She thought of Loki’s expression of faint disdain when she had informed him of the Preemond’s belief in their auras and scrutinized his face for even a hint of the same emotion.

“Indeed,” the female agreed. “One of our kind attempted to share it with others, but the results were unpleasant. So all we can hope for is that others will understand our gift and the radiance it can bring to the Nine Realms. You have a magnificent aura. I have never seen one quite that shade.”

Not even the slightest trace of disdain materialized. And Roska had spent long enough studying Loki’s mannerisms that any shift would be apparent.

Loki turned to her, and Roska blinked. Had she somehow missed something in the discussion? She had been listening. As Loki’s eyebrows rose, Roska glanced to the female, who was looking back at her.

“Oh, you were speaking to me,” Roska realized. “I, uh, thank you.”

“My choice-mate is not usually so absentminded.” Loki snaked an arm around her, and Roska willed herself not to move a single muscle. “But Kaliel has always been stricken by my appearance.”

A protest latched on the tip of Roska’s tongue, but she swallowed it. She needed to act like someone in a marriage. Roska sifted through memories of happy partners. A smile, that was not so hard. Roska managed one, hoping Loki did not intend to keep his hand on her for the whole of the conversation. The female was eyeing it with an intent gleam, which unnerved Roska further.

“You were saying?” Loki prompted the female. “About auras. Yours must be lovely as well.”

The female curved her arms shyly over her abdomen. “It is good, but not amongst the best. Mine is only _uhmuh_.”

Loki looked to Roska, but she could only shake her head. She was not familiar with the term.

“And what is _uhmuh_?” he asked.

“It is a shade of _tittuu_ , which has a very similar feeling to blue.”

Now Roska understood. The Preemond were able to see a wider spectrum of colors than the Aesir. The authors of the texts she had found must have decided to identify the Tattatick of their time by the color he gave for his aura. That seemed a helpful way to think of the Preemond, and one she assumed the Preemond would not mind. After all, the name “Preemond” was not a name of their choosing, but they did not appear to mind the designation. Still, she had best make sure that they did not find it offensive.

“Would you mind if we called you Uhmuh?” Roska checked.

“Not at all,” the female, Uhmuh, assented.

As that had confirmed her theory, Roska was content to let Loki steer the conversation between himself and Uhmuh at will. She could not determine how he was attempting to direct them to the topics of Rttiulz and the Fang, but that worried her little. She had witnessed Loki talk seemingly in circles until at last revealing that he had been binding his target in several intricate knots. So she concentrated instead on their talk, listening with attention to the bits of culture Uhmuh revealed.

Other members of the Preemond joined their conversation. One or two at first, but that was all it took to break the dam of curiosity. They gathered like a fascinated audience before a storyteller, jostling and lining in rows to listen and contribute their thoughts.

Had their interest been directed at her alone, Roska would have shrunk beneath the weight of trying to speak before too many people at once. By contrast, Loki blossomed under the Preemond’s attentions, soaking it in like a plant kept too long from the light, and consequently growing large enough to leave her mostly – thankfully – in his shadow.

How happy he seemed. Roska imagined that Loki would scoff and complain about the simple-mindedness of the Preemond if she pointed to his good mood, but Roska knew better. She was pleased to see Loki this way. She could sense the great king in him, who would flourish bantering with foreign leaders and make even the lowliest in the Nine Realms want to gather in crowds to hear him speak.

And also, a part of her was simply glad to see him happy. Not because she cared about his feelings. Never that because, of course, she thought of Loki only in relation to what he could do to keep Fate in balance. But, considering all he had been through, a moment of contentment was not uncalled for.

“Staring again, dear one?” Loki noted with a sly smile.

Roska glanced around, concerned that a question had not met her ears, but if such a thing had occurred, none of the Preemond volunteered it again.

Gently, Loki pulled her closer. Uhmuh, who retained her place front and center of the group, glanced down at his hand on Roska’s waist with the same gleam in her eyes. This time Roska recognized it as envy, and her face grew warm.

Palest-Yellow asked, “Have you been bonded long?”

“No,” Loki responded. “Only about twenty years.”

“Do many of your kind bond?” inquired Uttui.

“Choice-mates are actually quite rare. Not as rare as your bonding seems to be, but most of our kind consider it unnecessary to commit themselves to a single person.”

“So why did you?”

“Well… our interests aligned so perfectly.” Loki gave Roska a wink at the private jest. “And I could not fathom ever finding someone else who felt the same.”

While that sounded like answer enough to Roska, the Preemond turned their eyes on her. Panic nipped at her belly. What was she to say that Loki had not already? He had been able to make the truth into a romantic notion. Roska rubbed the back of her wrist. Looks, those were important.

“My – my choice-mate is not unattractive,” Roska tried. A feeble answer, Loki’s amused grin told her. She could do better. “Uh, and I have known Mariel since we were children, and I – I – I think they have grown into someone who I am glad to stand beside.”

Whether or not that counted as a better reply, it could not hurt to add some kind of gesture. So Roska leaned very stiffly against Loki’s shoulder.

More of the Preemond eyed them with envy now. Roska took a deep breath past the lump in her throat. She should be proud of her ability to continue their charade. Oddly, it felt like she had said something wrong.

Roska looked up at Loki for affirmation that all was well. He already looked down at her, his smile a ghost of its former brightness. Roska’s stomach sank. She _had_ said something wrong.

A loud clicking of limbs grabbed Roska’s attention, and everyone else’s as well. A scout on the other side of the cavern announced, “The tunnels have been declared structurally sound. We may move about as we wish once more.”

Tunnels? Roska looked around. She had only seen the tunnel leading down from the surface. Her assumption had been that the Preemond lived in this cavern for the duration of their stay in Rijd’s Valley. Yet, a few of the Preemond were rising and heading to the opposite end of the cavern behind the Kutatuh.

“I do believe it would be good to stretch our legs after sitting for so long,” Loki suggested. “Uhmuh, might we trouble you for a tour?”

Uhmuh unbent her legs from their folded position. “Of course.”

The girth of the Kutatuh had blocked from view a second tunnel. It had been formed in the same rough fashion with colored crystals lining its walls and giving off light. Uhmuh took them down the worn path to where caves had been carved out on either side.

The first two caves were food stores, which Uhmuh explained were sealed while the Preemond roamed about Niflheim. They brought fresher foodstuffs as well – meats and plants collected as they traveled – but most of their diet consisted of dried mosses that grew abundantly in a nearby gelatinous hot pool.

Beyond the stores rested several caves that emitted a near blinding light. When Roska squinted into one, she saw that the floor slanted down and out of sight. These were places for sacred meditation, and Uhmuh indicated that the Tattaticks currently resided in the cave from which flared dazzling green light.

“They spoke of meditating for the ‘time of _Whutah_ ,” Loki confided. He kept pace with Uhmuh, while Roska lagged as she looked back over her shoulder, wishing they had stopped so she could take a look inside the meditation caves. Perhaps on the way back. “That is a religious ceremony?”

“Yes,” Uhmuh replied. “It allows our senses to become heightened so that our auras may join with the universal spirit of Whutah, who may travel to us through the Kutatuh, and we receive instructions for the years to come. To what holy places we must make pilgrimage, which amongst us shall hold important positions, who – if any of us – may bond.”

“You hope to be chosen. For bonding.”

Uhmuh hesitated, but admitted, “Yes. If it is shown to me. But to chosen is such a rare occurrence that I do not expect it.” She pointed to an off-shooting tunnel. “Should you need to make waste, follow this to the end.”

“And if you bonded without it being predetermined?” Loki inquired.

Uhmuh looked alarmed at the prospect and bent three limbs at odd angles. “That is against our beliefs. Very few have ever broken such rules. We are warned about the evils of departing from our way of life, and those who perpetrated these evils: Uhttatta, Mutumpah, Nearly-Black…” She turned to glance behind her at the empty tunnel and quietly added, “Rttiulz.”

Roska snapped to attention. Finally. As if sensing the questions that were about to spill from her mouth, Loki took her by the arm, his fingers squeezing in warning.

“We have heard of Rttiulz,” Loki said, tossing out the words as if he had a mere passing interest in the figure. “But in name only. I gather from the reaction of you and your people that he is not spoken of.”

“He is not.”

“Well, I would not wish to cause you any trouble as you have been so immensely kind and informative. But, of course, if you did tell us the story, it is not necessary for us to pass it on.”

Uhmuh searched behind them, rubbing her limbs together until droplets of blood rose to the surface. She stopped walking, and Roska and Loki stopped with her. Roska leaned forward against Loki’s hold on her arm, hoping that Uhmuh would speak. And she did.

“Rttiulz was a Tattatick, as you said.” Uhmuh blinked at Roska. “One of the first. He was a wise man, and led our people for many thousands of years. But then he was entrusted with an object of incredible power.” Roska held her breath in anticipation. This was exactly what she had hoped for. The Preemond did have the Fang. “It is said that the object’s aura was too strong for Rttiulz, that it spoke to him and told him more truths than he wished to know. And it drove him mad.”

Roska had never heard of the Fang of Fenrir doing such a thing. “Mad how?”

“He slaughtered his kin, all except three who managed to kill him and escape.”

So much death. Something as powerful as the Fang could affect the wielder if they were unprepared. This was troubling, but Roska knew that the Aesir had used the Fang in the past without incident. Except Loki did not have Aesir heritage. Still, he would be all right. Most likely. Perhaps she should wield the Fang in his place, just as a precaution.

“I can see why you do not speak of him,” Loki said with sympathy laced in his voice. “And the object was destroyed, I take it.”

“No.”

“No?” Loki raised an eyebrow. “It seems dangerous to keep such an object.”

“I think so too,” said Uhmuh. “But I was told that the object was entrusted to us for a reason, and so it is safely kept by the Tattaticks. Even they do not look at it, just in case they feel the lure of its aura.”

It was as she had suspected. The Tattaticks had the Fang. Roska tried to remember exactly how they looked. She had not seen anything on their person, so they must be keeping it somewhere in this tunnel. When Uhmuh began walking again, Roska gave Loki a significant look. He nodded once, his casual air giving over momentarily to excitement.

Farther down the tunnel, Uhmuh showed them caves where the Preemond slept. They were large enough for standing in the direct center, but the ceiling sloped and the space was only wide enough to accommodate two. Uhmuh stated that they could choose any cave that did not have belongings in it.

“There are plenty.” Uhmuh made a wistful sound, dragging one arm along the other like the bow of a stringed instrument. “There used to be a great many more of us.”

“These look… intimate,” Loki remarked. “And the Tattaticks have such a dwelling as well? I commend them on truly being one of the people.”

“Oh, no,” dismissed Uhmuh. “The Tattaticks have a larger cavern down…” She took them to a place where a hollow had been carved in the wall and curved around to the left in a passageway. “It is important that the Tattaticks have ample space to maximize the extent of their auras.”

“Yes, of course.”

Uhmuh turned them back in the opposite direction. She seemed distracted, so Roska used the opportunity to pull Loki back and throw up a casting to block their voices.

“The Fang must be in there,” Roska stated. “Create an illusion of me, and I will go back and search.”

Loki shook his head. “If you take the Fang now, that could lead to complications. It will be much easier if we wait until everyone is asleep. Then we can take it and leave without anyone noticing.”

Roska huffed. She already felt like they had made enough of a detour. “But this will be faster.”

“All right.” Loki shrugged. “We might have to kill everyone getting out of here if we are discovered, but if that is how you would like to do things, I think it might be preferable to hearing another word about how the true meaning of everything is encapsulated in colors.”

He was trying to force her into agreement, and Roska set a hand on her hip. She prepared to argue further or make her way to the Tattatick’s chambers regardless, but hidden in Loki’s attempt to dissuade her was a possible outcome. They might have to fight their way out. Killing off an entire race was very disruptive to the course of Fate, so Roska unhappily acquiesced.            

Back in the large cavern, Roska and Loki amassed another, yet smaller gathering. Roska found it much harder to concentrate on the Preemond now that she knew where the Fang rested. She swore she could almost sense its power.

Roska eyed the Kutatuh as her thoughts drifted to what they were going to do after getting the Fang. Head for the gap to Asgard, at least she knew that much. Beyond that… she had best come up with a plan.

Suddenly, Roska realized that the pillar was different somehow. She surveyed it for a full minute before realizing what had changed. The Preemond who had impaled themselves upon the jutting crystals – they were gone. She searched the room for any trace, but there was none. Strange. But she supposed the Preemond might have been waiting to remove the bodies until the tunnels were declared safe after the quake she caused.

The Preemond who had gone into the tunnels eventually drifted back into the cavern. Circles formed of them sitting around the Kutatuh.

“The time of Whutah,” Uhmuh explained before either Roska or Loki could ask.

Last to enter the cavern were the Tattaticks. They stood on the other side of the Kutatuh so that Roska could not see them, but heard their voices clearly.

“The time of Whutah has come,” the female Tattatick intoned. “On this day which has been blessed with pale orange, we will discover what is asked of us. We take this responsibility gladly and praise mighty Kutatuh and the Whutah within it.”

“Praise be to the Kutatuh,” called the Preemond. “Praise be to the Whutah.”

“Drink,” commanded the male Tattatick. “Drink and see.”

It grew quiet then. Roska looked around, but the Preemond were waiting patiently. Soon it became clear what they were waiting for. Large stone bowls were being passed from person to person. When a bowl reached one of the Preemond, they lifted it to their mouths and drank.

Roska took the bowl in her hands from the Preemond seated on her left and moved to pass it to Loki.

“You are not going to drink?” asked the Preemond male.

His severe gaze made Roska glance down at the bowl. The soupy contents had a sheen on the surface like oil brought into the light, refracting an array of colors. She did not want to be rude by refusing. If the liquid disagreed with her, she had healing stones in her pack. She would take a tiny sip from the bowl. No more.

Roska quickly brought the bowl to her lips. The liquid smelled metallic. It rolled onto her tongue, tasting the flavor of how she imagined molten metal to taste, only the liquid was warm instead of burning. A lump of something bumped against her lips.

“I am not certain this is a good idea,” Uhmuh warned.

Roska choked, which rather than stopping the flow of the liquid, meant she inhaled more. She lowered the bowl, coughing. All of the Preemond were staring at her. Many looked nervous, some seemed curious, and a few eyed her with eagerness.

The Tattaticks had leaned around the Kutatuh to get a better look. The female Tattatick had an air of grim satisfaction, but the male Tattatick said, “She is right. Mariel, I would advise you not to drink, and keep watch on your choice-mate.”

Loki took the bowl from Roska and gave it to Uhmuh. Roska wrung her hands. She had done what she thought the Preemond expected of her.

Leaning in close to her ear, Loki murmured, “Please tell me you only brought that bowl to your lips for show and did not actually drink from it.”

Roska looked at him helplessly. “I have healing stones.”

His lips thinned in irritation, but Loki was quick to replace it with a mask of concern. He touched the small of her back and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Roska inhaled sharply. She reached up, fingers curved and ready to rub away the kiss as if it had never been. However, many of the Preemond were still watching her. She could not afford to make another mistake. Roska forced her hand down, attempting not to pay any attention to the warmth rapidly fading from her cheek. And if her insides felt suddenly twisted up, it must be the workings of the liquid.

“What was in that bowl exactly?” Loki asked Uhmuh.

“ _Ttahtt_ , the fruit from the sacred groves above us,” Uhmuh whispered, gesturing to the ceiling. “Water from the places we have traveled since our last pilgrimage to this place, crushed shards from the Kutatuh, and those who have sacrificed themselves so that we may see the Whutah.”  

Roska truly did feel her insides shifting. The Preemond that had impaled themselves on the Kutatuh, the ones whose bodies had disappeared. She should have asked about them earlier.

Instead...

The metallic taste on her tongue magnified until Roska thought she would choke on it.

Loki’s mouth had curved in disgust, but the rest of his expression remained neutral. “Thank you, Uhmuh.” The tips of his fingers rubbed in small circles against Roska’s back as he leaned towards her once more. “Say something if you begin to feel strange.”

Roska just nodded.

The bowl continued its rounds of the cavern until all had drunk from its contents. Then, the Tattaticks stood. The Preemond rose after them, and Roska and Loki, too.

The Tattaticks spread their arms. “Through the Kutatuh all colors are reflected, through each other all colors are made light. We have taken both color and light into us as well as nourishment for the Whutah, and now we ask you Whutah, come to us.”

“Come to us!” one of the Preemond called. Another added their voice and more until the Preemond’s overlapping voices became a unified chanting. “Come to us! Come to us! Come to us!”

They kept repeating the phrase at a steady rhythm, their voices never tiring. Roska could feel the beat through the floor as they hit their chests in unison. The large crystal column appeared to shift with their voices as well, expanding and contracting like a living thing, pulsing, breathing.

The sickness that had settled in Roska’s stomach was dissipating. A cocoon of warmth curled around her with welcoming arms. She belonged here. She was one with this people. The column pulsed, and during each wave color bloomed.

“Come to us! Come to us!”

The chanting grew louder. A few of the Preemond were swaying as if they had drunk too much ale.

Roska looked at the Preemond beyond the Kutatuh. Colors whirled around them, a solid color closer to their forms and then shifting bursts of various shades pressing up against those solids.

“Come to us! Come to us!”

“I see them,” Roska murmured in awe. The auras. They were so beautiful.

“See who?” Loki questioned.

Roska turned to him. An aura had formed around him, the richest shade of purple she had ever seen. She wanted to touch it. Loki stared at her hand as she reached out, but he did not move away. When she touched his aura, the color retreated into him like a frightened animal, but her fingers glowed with that purple light. Roska brought her hand close to her face. The light had a fragrance. It smelled delicious. She licked her fingers. She had never tasted anything so good.

“I think we best go,” Loki suggested, but Roska ignored him.

The purple on her fingers was gone, but there was a creamy yellow glow around her other arm. Her own aura. Roska touched it. The glow sunk into her skin, but it left its residue on her fingertips. She stuck them into her mouth, sucking and licking the delectable substance of her aura away.

The chanting was finally losing strength as the Preemond swayed and shifted, bumping into each other.

Roska needed more. _Needed_ it. She stared down at the shifting yellow glow beneath her skin moving like blood pumping through her veins. She pushed back her sleeve. The glow looked so wonderfully savory.

Her mouth watered. Roska lifted her arm and bit down. Her aura gushed into her mouth in warm spray.

“Hel’s fucking teeth,” Loki swore under his breath and scooped Roska up. He opened short rifts to take them across the cavern as Roska chewed on what she had torn from herself. She was so hungry, and she needed more.

Nuzzling her face into Loki’s neck, Roska inhaled. She could smell the scent of that purple glow on him just waiting to be devoured. She opened her mouth.

Roska sank her bared teeth into him, and Loki dropped her on the floor of the tunnel. He touched his neck and grimaced down at the smears of purple on his fingers. Away from the scent of his aura, Roska lost interest in Loki and lifted her arm for a second taste.

Loki was on her in an instant, pinning her arms to the ground. “You are not well. You need a healing stone. Give one to me.”

Roska struggled to free herself. She snapped her teeth. She had to get to the purple aura in his face. She needed all of it. All of it.

“Roska.” Loki jostled her hard. “Draugr. The healing stones.”

No stones. Just auras. More auras. Roska thrashed in his hold. More. More. More.

Loki made a growling sound of frustration. In her mind, Roska felt something shift. A feeling of cold, a flare of power. A distant part of herself recognized the wards on her pocket dimensions flaring up against an intrusion.

“Take down the wards,” Loki demanded, his voice hard. Roska snarled at him. Nothing mattered but the auras.

Steadily, the cold strengthened. It chilled her, the insistent battering of Loki’s magic slamming against her wards. His face grew pained at the strain of the casting and the toll the wards were taking.

The Preemond staggered into the tunnel, jostling them as they moved in a trance to their respective quarters. Roska snapped at those who went by and bit off a small piece of one leg. The Preemond did not notice.

The air thickened. Roska shivered at the chill, at the anger inside of her, and the hunger. The building hunger. Loki let out a string of curses, and suddenly Roska felt a tremendous force press against the wards.

One of the wards failed, unleashing energy as the magick that had formed the casting dispersed. The shock of it snapped Roska momentarily to her senses. She reached into the pocket dimension and pulled out her pack. Her vision doubled, the creamy yellow glow blurring over stains of red blood. Her fingers slipped on the drawstrings, but she got the pack open and rifled through.

There. At the bottom. Roska grabbed a healing stone and squeezed to activate it. A golden web of light spread forth from the stone to encompass her and assess her body. Tiny particles moved to fix or replace what cells had been damaged. They forced the contaminant out, causing Roska to roll over and be sick. She wiped a hand across her mouth as the golden light faded and the stone died. All traces of the liquid would be gone from her body and her arm had been repaired, leaving only bloodstains on the new skin.

Loki had collapsed against the wall. His illusion of being a Light Elf had vanished, and the hold he had on keeping himself visible flickered. He was breathing like he had run the entire length of Asgard twice over. The amount of energy required to break one of her wards would have been immense, almost beyond his power.

Now that Roska had her wits about her, she worried that he had overexerted himself. Expending so much energy at once could be fatal. She dug through her pack for another healing stone, but when she held it towards Loki, he raised a hand.

“How many do you have?” he asked.

“Just this one,” Roska replied.

Loki shook his head. “Best not waste it for something so trivial. I need a moment’s rest. That’s all.”

Roska hesitated, but whisked her pack with the stone away. “Do you think you can make it to a cave?”

“Yes.”

Loki was able to get to his feet, but by leaning on the wall with his legs shaking. Roska moved over and put an arm around him for support. She marked it as a sign of how weary Loki was that he neither protested nor made some clever remark as they walked down the tunnel together, passing caves in which Preemond bodies thrashed and emitted loud clicks and eerie warbles.

They passed several empty caves before Roska picked one, Loki ducking low to get inside. He sat down heavily, and Roska noticed the bite mark on his neck. Shame washed over her. She had hurt him. All because of her foolish mistake.

Roska brought forth her pack again as she sat down at Loki’s side. She tore a strip from a tunic and wet it with mead. Loki sucked in a breath as she pressed it to the bite mark.

“I am sorry,” Roska apologized. “I should not have been so stupid.”

“No,” Loki agreed, wincing as Roska dabbed at his throat.

The wound was still bleeding, and it looked larger and more vicious up close.

“Are you sure I cannot use the healing stone?” Roska pressed. “It will scar.”

“Well,” said Loki with a careless shrug. “I have plenty of those. What is one more?”

His comment sounded flippant, but Roska knew better. She would not add to the pain Thanos had already caused. To have Loki look at himself in the mirror and know that mark was from her, no. It was not right.

“I think I may be able to heal you,” Roska said. She used magic to repair clothing. Healing magic was theoretically similar.

Loki cocked an eyebrow. “You _think_?”

“Allow me to try.”

Loki gestured for the mead skin in her hand. Roska gave it to him, and he took a long drink. “Very well.”

Roska lowered her attention to his neck. She wiped the cloth across his skin to clear the blood so she could get a better look at the torn flesh. Imagine it like a hole worn through breeches or a scorched cloak. That was all.

Taking a deep breath, Roska licked her lip and concentrated. Just weave the flesh together. She held her hand over his neck. Beneath it, she sensed the skin moving. It did not have the same feeling as cloth, and she tried to restructure the casting, prodding the energies into place until they gave with more ease.

Finished, Roska lowered her hand and wiped away the blood. Most of the wound had closed, but the mark of it remained, the skin bruised and puckered and bloody. She had not been able to form the casting correctly.

Nevertheless, Loki prodded the area gingerly and said, “You are brimming with surprise talents.”

“I would not call that a talent, but healing you is the least I can do.” Roska eyed her handiwork with an unsatisfied frown.

“It never hurts to have someone owe a favor.”  

“Yes, of course,” Roska murmured. Loki wanted to ensnare her for his own purposes. She must never forget that.

Loki made himself comfortable against the wall. “Once the Preemond are asleep, we can go to the Tattaticks’ chambers, retrieve the Fang, and be out of this wretched place.”

Roska nodded as she scratched at the dried blood on the back of her hand. The Preemond’s sacred underground had proven to be troublesome. Getting the Fang should be the easiest part. She hoped.


	12. Ellifu

Surely enough time had passed. Roska had used the cleansing brush to scrub blood from her face and hands, and then stretched out on her back and gazed up at the ceiling as she contemplated her unfinished plan. Loki had stayed where he was, lounging against the wall with his eyes half lidded.

Anxious to retrieve the Fang, Roska asked, “How much longer do you think?”

“Hmm. Not much longer, I would guess. I imagine only those who have bonded for the first time will have made an effort to stay awake for…” Loki’s lip curled. “… mating purposes.”

“That would keep them awake long?”

“I have no notion, nor desire to know, the exact qualities of how the Preemond mate. But with the right partner and if one is enjoying themselves, you make it last.” Loki stretched his arms and folded them once more across his chest. “Of course, you were a child when you became the Draugr. You would not have known what you were missing out on by becoming celibate.”

Roska frowned. “The Children of Norn are not celibate.”

“I thought becoming emotionally attached to someone was against your tenets.”

“It is, but does one necessitate the other? Some Children decide to live free of such relations, but others do not.”

“And if a child were born of the union?”

“Impossible. We are all made barren.”

The Norns worked that casting right before the one that cleared the mind of a new Child. They had explained that the casting was very painful, and Roska was thankful not to have the memory of it. She was also grateful that the desire to rear children of her own had never risen up from within her. She had read the writings of a previous Draugr who, from what she could piece together, had gone mad with grief at the prospect of never having children and tore off his Fate amulet.

Loki nodded once. “I see.”

In the silence that fell, Roska found herself thinking again of that Draugr. Very few of the Draugrs knew what happened to their predecessors. Such information was not often necessary. She knew nothing at all about the Draugr before her.

It was possible to stop being a Child of Norn. All one had to do was take off the amulet. They would then lose all the gifts the Norns had granted them, as well as the memories of their time as a Child, but their original memories would be restored to them.

While Roska had come across accounts that indicated a Draugr had relinquished their duty, there were never any follow ups of what happened to them afterwards. Did they live normal lives? Or did they always feel a sense of wrongness?

Roska did not search for such answers. She would never give up her duty to live among the Aesir. Fate had chosen her for a purpose, and to step down in order to live according to one’s own desire was pure selfishness. She would spit at the feet of such a person if she met them.

Still, she supposed that sometimes on a rare, rare occasion she looked at a group of friends laughing over tankards of mead or a couple sneaking away for the joy of each other’s company and could see the appeal. She would not consider making any sort of transgression. But she could see why someone else might have the desire.

“You have never indulged, though,” Loki stated.

Roska needed a moment to realize Loki was carrying on their previous conversation. “Why would you think that?”

“You seem uncomfortable with physical intimacy.”

“I am unused to it.”

A touch of a hand exchanging goods or knocking into someone in a crowd, those kinds of exchanges meant nothing to Roska. However, she had never experienced anything like Loki wrapping an arm around her waist, and it was a gesture connected in her mind with romantic entanglements. She knew Loki did so to keep up the façade of them being choice-mates, but it still felt wrong.

When Loki inspected her, Roska thought there might be more to his observations.

“I hope I have not offended you,” Roska apologized, not wanting Loki to think her unease stemmed from being repulsed by him.

“Not at all,” Loki assured her with a dismissive wave. “I am merely trying to imagine the man that might capture your eye. Or do you prefer women?”

“There was a man,” Roska replied. “Once. A long time ago.”

She had recently come into womanhood and the prospect of sex had been a curiosity to her. Many of the Aesir around her age appeared to indulge and enjoy the experience. After watching one such couple in the stables at Hlidskialf, Roska failed to understand the lure of bedding someone. It seemed like a lot of bodily fluids – which most people abhorred in their daily lives – and making noises like wounded animals. So she sought out a man to see if he could solve the mystery.

“Was it not to your taste?” Loki asked. “Or was he simply that inept at bedding you?”

“I am not sure.”

But whatever the reason, Roska had never felt the desire to try again. Possibly she had done something wrong, but Hylir, the man she had selected, did not seem dissatisfied. She had overheard him later bragging of the encounter. Men tended to boast of such things, but even so, she might have displayed some sign that fooled him into thinking she had felt something better than discomfort.

“Who was he?” Loki queried. “Anyone I would know of?”

Roska pictured Hylir. His features were pleasing. She had seen other women noticing him. Tall, a strong jaw, green eyes. Roska had liked his dark hair. It fell to his shoulders in thick waves. She remembered touching those locks because she imagined they would have the same luxurious feel as a fine tapestry. And he had a smile like some private jest was constantly on his mind. Yet, when he was not around other people, Roska thought he looked lonely. For one, or all, of those reasons she had chosen him.

Also, she had known of Hylir because he and Loki were childhood companions.

“Hylir Borson.”

Loki laughed. “Oh, then it was most definitely ineptitude. I heard complaints on a number of occasions from women who seemed very satisfied with me.”

Roska snorted and shook her head. “Yes, they all seem satisfied until you start ignoring them. Then, they either pine away or become enraged.”

“Regardless, I can assure you I never had a woman take issue with the way I treated her in bed.”

“No, they simply take issue with the fact that you turn them away once they show signs of caring about you.”

It had taken a while, but Roska finally spotted the pattern. Loki did not like when women asked him about personal topics such as his family. She had thought that strange because showing such an interest seemed to be the sign of a good partner in a courtship.

“That will not be a problem since the Draugr does not care about anyone,” Loki pointed out. He hiked a suggestive eyebrow. “So what say you?”

“No,” Roska said firmly. Just because they were pretending to be choice-mates did not mean he needed to make such flirtations, especially when no one else was around. And after she had gone mad and bitten him.

“Suit yourself, but I will leave the invitation open.”

“That is not necessary. I am not bedding you.”

“Oh, _you_ would most certainly not be bedding _me_ ,” Loki chuckled with a smirk. “I would not relinquish control so easily, not even for the Draugr. But believe me, you want me in command. It makes the experience infinitely more pleasurable.”

He made the final word sound like a caress. Roska rolled one shoulder like she could remove the feeling of it as well as the warmth flooding her chest with a single, sharp jerk.

“No.”

Roska hated the look in Loki’s eyes, as though he were a predatory cat and she a mouse squeaking in defiance while her tails had already been pinned beneath his paw. There was laughter in that gaze, and a knowing smugness.

“Are you certain?” he purred. Loki moved forward, resting on his knees and setting his hands on either side of her. 

“I do not know what you are hoping to accomplish with this game of yours, but I demand you desist immediately,” Roska hissed as the heat in her chest increased and spread across her face.

“Game? What game? I simply thought it might be a pleasurable way to pass the time.”

That word again, and still it sounded like another caress. To her horror, Roska could feel her body responding. Her breath trembled on the inhale. Though she had been just as close to Loki, Roska had never been quite so aware of a scarcity of distance between them. Her hands curled into fists at her side.

“And it can be relaxing, which you seem to need.” Loki shifted lower, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Roska’s lips. “You look tense.”

Roska clutched for inner strength. Such a virtue had been easy to find in the past, but the boulder of her resolve was eroding at a frightening speed. Had Loki’s eyes ever been such a piercing shade of blue? Had his grin ever seemed so promisingly wicked?

“If you touch me, you lose that hand,” she warned in a voice that was more air than sound.

Loki brought his face closer to hers. Roska could not pull her gaze away. She could not move except to curl her fists so tightly that her fingernails bit into the skin. She was terrified of what Loki would do next. Only no, that was not quite right. She was afraid of her own response.

Slowly, Loki leaned down beside her ear. “I think not.” He pressed a hand against the dip in Roska’s waist, pulling her towards him.

And Roska activated her shield. The force of it shoved Loki backwards. He skidded across the floor and slammed into a wall while Roska scrambled in the opposite direction. She leapt to her feet without considering her surroundings and whacked her head on the ceiling. Pain flared in her skull. Roska sucked in a breath as she rubbed the aching spot.

Loki began laughing. “Well, I have never gotten that reaction before.”

Her already muddled emotions roiled. Anger, humiliation, and shame clashed together in tumultuous waves. Roska clenched her teeth and stalked out of the room.

“Hold a moment. Wait.”

Roska ignored Loki calling after her. She prowled down the tunnel, fists clenched. Loki should not have laughed. He should not have touched her. They were allies. Roska knew that he desired the throne for the most part to fulfill a need placed on him since birth. Loki knew she desired to help him become king in order to maintain the course of Fate. They therefore had a common goal, and that was the end of it. She desired nothing more from him.

Still, the suggestion of bedding should not have felt so different than being with Hylir. Roska had come to him with a singular purpose, and so their task had become the same. It meant nothing, a trivial act. But such an offer from Loki did not feel trivial.

The air shimmered, a casting to dampen sound. Loki stepped in front of her.

“Roska –”

“I told you not to call me that name,” Roska spat as she maneuvered around him. “I am the Draugr.”

Loki blocked her path once more. “Draugr, stop.”

“I will meet you back here presently.”

She needed to not be around Loki for a while. Otherwise she was going to beat him against the ground with a strong casting, or launch herself at him in a rage, or do something she could not even fathom. That was the issue. He had made her lose control. Roska bit her bottom lip. She was not meant to be undone so easily.

Roska tried to pass Loki, but he grabbed her arm.

“Are you truly so angry with me?” Loki inquired. “It was only a bit of fun.”

Roska yanked her arm free. “So that was the game? Trying to take a woman against her will is fun to you?”

Loki drew back, looking offended. “I have never taken a lover against their will. I am not some brute who would toss a woman over my shoulder like a prize and carry them back to my hovel.”

“I asked you not to touch me and you did so anyway.”

“With your words, perhaps.” The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched upwards. “Your body however sounded like it was begging –”

Roska struck Loki with an air casting so forceful that he flew down the corridor until he was nearly out of sight. She tore open a rift and stepped through to where Loki lay on his side, wincing in pain.

“How _dare_ you,” Roska seethed. “If I say I do not wish to be touched, then you will not touch me. Is that understood?”

“Yes. All right,” Loki agreed. He sat up and touched his ribs, sucking in a strained breath. “You could have just said as much instead of throwing me down this thrice-damned tunnel.”

“It seemed that my words were falling on deaf ears. Had you not saved me today, I would have pitched you through the rock.”

Anger flared up on Loki’s face, but it faded as he sighed. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Loki looked up at her with – Roska’s eyebrows creased. His expression, it looked like respect. She was not certain whether the display might be false, but regardless, his steady gaze soothed her rage.

“You have my apologies. I shall obey your wishes in the future,” Loki promised.

Roska looked him over. She did not have much choice but to trust him, for only time would tell. She nodded her head in acceptance.

Loki got up and brushed himself off. “Of course, the invitation is still open should you change your mind.”

Roska rolled her eyes as she turned around to head back down the tunnel. She used a tiny amount of energy to yank pieces of the floor minutely higher behind her, and smiled as Loki stumbled, muttering a curse. However, her smile only lasted a moment. Because while she believed Loki should have listened to her, he was not wrong in one respect. She _had_ wanted him to touch her. She had wanted with pure, selfish need to give into the sensual promises of his voice.

What made Roska even more nervous was that the feeling had sprung free with the force of an arrow held back too long. And if that desire had leapt to the surface, what else might rise alongside it?

As she passed by a cave, Roska glanced inside with the sense that one of the Preemond might see her somehow and read the agitation on her face. But the figure of the Preemond was limp and quiet, as was the next in the tunnel.

So Roska took this as a sign that they could head to the Tattaticks’ chambers and pushed any other thoughts from her mind.

The glowing crystals along the tunnel wall seemed to pulse, reminding Roska uncomfortably of the Kutatuh as she crept along with Loki. The Preemond lay in their caves as still and silent as the dead. Had it not been clear that the Preemond had performed the ritual many times before, Roska might have been tempted to crawl into one of the caves and make certain that they were unharmed. As it was, Roska passed by the inert forms with the sense that she traversed a macabre place she had once read of, a _tomb_ where bodies were packed beneath the ground instead of burned. The written description sounded like just another odd Midgardian custom, but the sight of seemingly lifeless bodies filling the honeycomb-like caves created an air of unease unfelt when she had witnessed the rows upon rows of corpses lined up for burning after the Winter’s War.

At last, they reached the passage which should lead to the Tattaticks’ chambers. Loki made to step in first, but Roska slid ahead of him. Just because no guards had been posted at the entrance did not mean no precautions had been made to keep any unwanted visitors out. Roska bolstered her shield and extended it to envelop Loki. She wove a casting along the outer edge to search for odd depressions in the rock that would indicate a trap.

“I think you could move a bit more slowly,” Loki drawled. “They may have strung up some twine to trip us. Or dug a large hole.”

Roska ignored him and maintained her cautious pace. This close to the Fang, she refused to risk any further setbacks.

The passage curved and dipped downwards and, finally, opened into a cave. It was not as large as the main cavern, but at least thrice the size of the individual caves in which the majority of the Preemond slumbered. Glowing green crystals jutted out of the rock like thorns, their light dim under what appeared to be layers of dried blood. More of it coated the walls where strange patterns had been gouged out.

Roska touched a series of lines whose crumbling edges indicated the ages past since a Tattatick had drawn their arms or a tool across the rock. By itself, the carven shapes would have been interesting, but Roska was made more uneasy by the old blood soaking into the lines because, unlike most of the blood in this cave, it was not the green that flowed through the Preemond, but a brown that must have once been red.

The Tattaticks lay upon a woven mat in one corner beneath a crystal. Around the edge of the room sat sacks made of tanned hides and boxes of carven wood, any of which could contain the Fang.

Roska indicated to her left and circled in that direction while Loki moved opposite. She knelt on the floor to rifle through the Tattaticks’ possessions. In the sacks and boxes, Roska discovered crystals and stone talismans, containers of foul-smelling liquids and berries, items from other realms: a broken brush handle of burnished gold, a metal rod with a branding mark of Mudspelheim origin, a necklace set with gemstones that made Roska’s palm tingle.

What Roska did not find was the Fang of Fenrir.

When she reached Loki, he met her gaze and shook his head. Nothing. Roska glanced around. This required a closer inspection.

Roska formed the casting to bend light in order to reveal anything that was hidden, but everything looked as it should be. She even turned the light into a physical force that pressed into every one of the carvings but no part of the cave shifted or changed.

Frustrated, Roska dropped the casting and formed one to block sound. “The Fang has to be here.”

“Unless there is a hidden place somewhere that only the Tattaticks know about,” Loki countered, peering at their sleeping forms.

“Would you leave something as powerful as the Fang where anyone might stumble onto it? Especially knowing what happened to Rttiulz?”

Loki bobbed his head, conceding the point. “Of course, Uhmuh did not specifically state that this object they have is the Fang.”

“It must be,” Roska argued. “What are the odds of the Preemond coming into possession of _two_ powerful artifacts?”

Roska looked around the cave. Where would the Tattatticks keep the Fang? It had to be somewhere safe where no one else would pick it up. Somewhere only they had access to, somewhere close so they would always know where it lay. Somewhere… somewhere… And the idea came to her.

“If you had the Fang of Fenrir, where would you put it?” Roska asked Loki.

“Besides burying it in the All-Father?” Loki remarked before pondering. “The vaults beneath Hlidskialf most likely. Although even those can conceivably be broken into, so if I truly wanted to keep it safe, I would –” He stopped, lips parted mid-thought. “Are the Preemond able to access pocket dimensions?”

His reaching the same conclusion gave Roska enough confidence to say, “I think they must be.”

“All right then.” Golden light flared as Loki adopted his Light Elf illusion. “It seems this particular disguise will be useful after all.” He tapped the tattooed symbol of the Hwya Resistance beside his eye.

Roska had been thinking that they were going to return to her original plan of speaking with the Tattaticks, so she regarded him with confusion. “Would it not be simpler if I asked to borrow it?”

“I will manage on my own,” Loki assured her with a flash of a grin. “I am very persuasive.”

“You were not able to persuade me earlier,” Roska grumbled.

Grin widening, Loki contradicted, “Not yet, you mean.”

Realizing this was a path she did not actually wish to traverse, Roska said, “The illusions were a good idea. I will keep mine if you reform it for me. But, while I know I have made some mistakes, I truly feel that I can get the Fang with the least amount of time and effort if you allow me to speak with the Tattaticks. Will you please trust me on this?”

No circuitous logic. No persuasive arguments. Just a bit of truth and an upfront request, and Roska was certain the Tattaticks would at least open the pocket dimension, thereby allowing her to take the Fang. Then, they could be out of this cave, which continued to give her an unsettled feeling.

Loki barely contemplated her request. “I admire your conviction, but no.”

As he turned his back, Roska considered knocking Loki out of the way and waking the Tattaticks herself, but one of them had to trust the other. What with her drinking that terrible mixture earlier, she could not really blame Loki for questioning her judgment. Still, she had hoped Loki would place some faith in her at this point in their journey and disappointment sank heavy in her chest, though nerves overshadowed it in crawling pinpricks of unease.

“Just be quick,” Roska insisted.

Loki crouched down beside the Tattaticks. He held a hand suspended over them, deciding where best to place it as Roska shifted back and forth on her heels. Eventually, he placed his hand between two of the female Tattatick’s highest limbs and shook her.

The Tattaticks did not wake at once, whether due to exhaustion or the aftereffects of the Whutah ceremony. When they did come to, the female Tattatick woke first. Her front eye blinked lazily, the pupil rolling around. It focused on Loki but did not appear to comprehend. She shifted, rousing the male Tattatick as she had to rock back and forth to move them up into a sitting position.

“Something has happened,” the female Tattatick stated, the beat on her chest platelets bringing clarity to her gaze. She did not seem surprised to see Loki. “Kaliel is…” The limbs she used to speak wavered uncertainly over her chest.

Roska stood behind Loki and so, while she could not see his face, she did notice his shoulders curve and his head lower.

“You could have warned us,” Loki growled. “You could have told us not to take part.”

The male Tattatick touched two of his limbs to either side of his eye and then said, “It was an oversight. We had been so preoccupied with our meditating, and you were out of our sight. Nothing like this has happened for a long, long time. We apologize.”

As sincere as the male Tattatick sounded, Roska noticed that the female Tattatick did not carry the same sympathy in her expression. The furtive glance she gave her partner was almost sly. Roska crossed her arms as her nerves increased.

“Kaliel insisted we treat you with respect.” Loki’s voice trembled with rage. “They insisted we come as friends and strike a bargain. To think, they were excited for the chance to meet your people. And now.”

He was doing a fair job of acting grief-stricken. Roska did not know precisely how Loki meant to use the approach, but he had fast picked up on what the female Tattatick assumed. If he were born to a different station, Loki could have done wonders in a theatrical troupe. The Tattaticks looked convinced.

“A bargain?” The female Tattatick blinked rapidly. “For what?”

“The Fang of Fenrir.”

The Tattaticks glanced at each other before the female protested, “I know not of what you speak.”

Roska bit her bottom lip. They had to be lying. The object, it must be the Fang. She shifted, ready to give Loki a nudge so that he would press harder, but her intentions were unnecessary.

Loki lunged forward, slamming the Tattaticks into the wall behind them and causing even Roska to jump.

“Yes, you do,” he hissed. “Tell me where you have hidden it.”

The female hit her chest platelets harder, her mouth flaps humming in a loud buzz as she repeated, “I know not of what you speak.”

Loki released a strangled laugh. “You have taken the one thing I cared more about than retrieving the Fang for the resistance. Are you sure you want to play this game?”

Neither of the Tattaticks replied, but the male Tattatick was suddenly incapable of looking at Loki’s face.

“Fine,” Loki spat, and a dagger appeared in his right hand.

Roska sucked in a breath. This was fast getting out of hand. That dagger had best be for show.

The metal blade glinted as Loki raised the dagger and rested it against the female Tattatick’s chest.

“If you give me the Fang, I will have no cause to use this,” he invited.

The female Tattatick stared at him and said nothing. In fact, she pulled her limbs tight against her in defiance. Loki pushed the dagger forward, and the Tattaticks shifted at the force of it. Roska tapped her fingers against her sides to release some tension. All they had to do was show Loki the Fang, and that would be enough. Just a glimpse.

“Very well.” Loki’s voice dipped to a dangerous murmur. He slid the dagger up to the female Tattatick’s front eye as he turned, still crouched, to the male Tattick. “Tell me where the Fang is, or I will run my dagger straight through this one’s eyes.”

The male Tattatick shuffled his limbs in agitation, but the warning glare of the female Tattatick kept him silent.

“And after I put out your companion’s eyes,” Loki continued. “I will cut off their legs so that you will have to drag them around like a corpse. And if you still tell me nothing, then you will be carrying a corpse.”

If the Preemond could sweat, the male Tattatick would surely have glistening streams trickling down his face. Roska did not particularly care for the turn this had taken. Threats could be effective, if given time to let them sink in and also show that there was some truth to them. But Roska wanted to be gone. The cave felt too confining and the air, it was different. Thicker.

Loki tipped the dagger so it was straight. He drew it back, the reflection shining in the female Tattatick’s eye.

“We do not have it!” the male Tattatick exclaimed.

“He is right,” the female Tattatick agreed, too quickly. “We do not have your Fang.”

Loki declared, “I do not believe you.” He thrust the dagger forward.

“We do not have it anymore!” Loki halted his thrust, and the male Tattatick glanced dartingly between the dagger tip and Loki’s face. “All we have is this.”

A scrap of parchment appeared between two of the male Tattatick’s limbs. Roska cursed herself for not being prepared. She had been so preoccupied between her uneasy feeling and whether or not Loki was about to stab the female Tattatick that she had not felt for the opening in the pocket dimension. And before she had a chance to ready the casting to take the parchment, it was gone.

Roska shook her head once in frustration. They needed to see what was on that parchment. Loki had to get the Tattaticks to open the pocket dimension again.

“What was that?” Loki queried, shifting one arm behind him. And Roska sighed in relief because the parchment was in his hand.

The male Tattatick leaned against the female. “Let him see it.”

“No,” the female Tattatick said. “It is not for him.”

Roska took the parchment from Loki and examined it. There were but a few markings on the page drawn in distinctive blue-black ink.

“There was a massacre,” the male Tattatick informed Loki. “Long ago. Our ancestors did not want to hold the Fang any longer, but neither did they want to shirk their duty. Fortunately, someone came who offered to take it to a safe place.”

“Be silent,” the female Tattatick demanded and beat the male Tattatick hard on his chest.

This looked like… Of course. Roska pulled out the book of maps. She flipped through the pages until she came to the correct one and held the scrap of parchment on the opposite page. Roska smiled faintly. Another sign from Fate.

Roska crouched, bringing her mouth close to Loki’s ear and pressing the parchment back into his hand.

“I know where it is,” she whispered.

Loki closed his fist and the parchment disappeared. “The Fang, you do not think it is safe to wield?” he asked in a less harsh tone.

“We know it is not,” the male Tattatick insisted. “Its aura is too powerful. It can drive a person mad.”

Loki was silent, as if contemplating. Roska already started backing towards the passageway, anxious to be gone.

Loki rose to his feet. “I heard the same from Uhmuh, but thought it might be superstition. If it is not…” He lowered the dagger to his side. “I will tell my companions, and we will decide how to proceed. I suggest you think on how you will greet us should we return. They are even harsher than I.”

With that, Loki turned away. Roska got a glimpse of a forbidding expression before a smile of satisfaction drew across his lips.

He made it to the direct center of the cave before blinding green light burst into life.

Roska threw up her hands to shield her eyes. The air turned so thick that she could not breathe. The feel of it was akin to plunging into mud, but then having the mud drain away so she gasped at the sudden freedom. The light dimmed. Each of the carvings on the walls glowed, connected to one another in a pattern she had not seen before and now seemed familiar. Sections of it, they looked to be based on magick. She must have subconsciously recognized the pattern enough to set her on edge.

A loud wheeze made Roska shift her gaze from the walls. Loki swayed where he stood, clutching at his throat. He took two tottering steps towards the Tattaticks and his illusion failed, revealing his true appearance. Roska ran to him, grabbing around Loki’s waist as he collapsed and sinking to the floor with him. The casting that made him visible to her also deteriorated.

Roska formed a casting of her own, forcing energy into the walls. She grabbed at the rock and pushed outward. Grating snaps echoed around the cave. Cracks burst through the carvings, breaking the symbols into fragments and disrupting the flow of magick. Roska heard Loki take several heaving gasps.

“Are you all right?” Roska gripped Loki’s arm. “I cannot see you. Are you all right?”

Loki became visible. He was panting and his cheeks were pink, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. Good. Then they could go.

Bits of rock fell on Roska’s head when she stood. She eyed one of the larger cracks and repaired it. They did not need the entire cave collapsing on them.

“We should go,” Roska said and spotted, not one, but two daggers in Loki’s hands. “What –?”

Loki swept past her, heading for the Tattaticks, who were frozen to the ground in confusion.

Roska hurried to get in front of him. “What are you doing?”

“They saw me.” Loki indicated the Tattaticks with a dagger. “I cannot afford to leave them alive.”

Roska held out her arms to stop him from moving any closer. “You cannot kill leaders of a race of people. What if it is not their time? Do you know how disruptive this could be to the course of Fate?”

“And yet killing a leader is paramount to our plan.”

“Because –” Roska stepped to her left to block Loki. “Because I believe that replacing Asgard’s king will keep Fate on its course. I have no idea what will happen if you kill these Tattaticks.”

Since she had led Loki to this place, Roska knew she could not look for guidance in her decision, but she was nonetheless steadfast in her belief that the Tattaticks must remain alive. Even with a race of beings so seemingly disconnected from the workings of the Nine Realms, an abrupt shift in their spiritual leaders had the potential to alter Fate in such a way as to create disturbances to the balance. Or possibly not, but their stay may have already created enough of an effect without adding two bodies to the mix.

But the Tattaticks seeing Loki was a problem. The Fang could not be traced back to him.

Roska needed a compromise, and quickly as Loki looked impatient. If only she were able to unravel the whole encounter like a bungled tapestry and weave it back together with smooth threads. It would be as if there had never been any error.

And she could. She could do that.

Loki loomed above her. “And I know what will happen if I do not kill them. Stand aside.”

“I can adjust their memories.”

The casting was not anything Roska considered lightly. To permanently alter memory was to invoke blood magic. Unlike the magic used to render Loki invisible though, this particular casting would not require a large amount of energies or leave much of a trace to draw creatures of chaos. The memory being changed took place over a miniscule period of time and she could replace it with a very simple memory: the Tattaticks had been asleep, meaning she would be creating the seconds of them waking up in an empty cave.

“You… can?” Loki questioned.

Roska nodded. She expected his surprise. Creating a permanent shield of invisibility or the illusion of being an Aesir, the origins of those castings were not based in chaos magic but infused with it. If one searched hard enough, they would be able to attempt a similar casting.

Altering memory was not mentioned in any text or whispered about in any teachings. There were certain chaos magics that had been deemed too dangerous to be known by anyone except the Children of Norn because their use could tear Fate apart.

“I need you to go find Crimson and bring her here,” Roska instructed. “She will do as a sacrifice.”

Crimson was elderly and sick. Roska recalled her cheerfully informing them that she never again expected to see the surface world. Her death would not arouse suspicion nor have an untimely effect on the rest of the Preemond.

Loki squinted. “Who?”

“Crimson. Ttuhttuh and Whauht brought her out of her cave because she wished to see us before the ceremony.” When Loki stared at her, Roska added, “She had very distinctive scarring here.” She patted her belly.

“Ah. Yes.” Loki slid one foot back, paused as if thinking, and then said, “Very well.”

He walked out of the cave, leaving Roska with the Tattaticks. She put up a shield so that they could not leave the corner and when the male Tattatick attempted to speak to her, she layered on a shield for sound. Until Loki returned, she needed to decide upon the exact thought she was going to put into the Tattaticks’ mind. If she was too specific, the memories shaping around the thought would never feel quite right. If she was too vague, the memories might take a different direction than what she intended.

Roska closed her eyes. You fell asleep and woke due to a bad dream. There was no one else in the chamber. She frowned. No. The Tattaticks might not remember their dreams, and find it strange to remember one. You fell asleep and woke to –

A loud thump startled Roska. She opened her eyes, indignant that Loki would drop Crimson on the ground. Just because these were the last moments of her life did not mean they should be uncomfortable.

“Must you…” Roska trailed off as she beheld the creature squirming on the ground in front of her. It had several long tentacles attached to a head similar to a stag with a muzzle of brown fur and wide eyes below antlers the color of tinted glass. Her gaze rose to the being hovering above the creature. A pressure expanded in her skull and burst into sound.

_Draugr._

The voice in her mind made Roska snap her open mouth shut. Not another Child. They should know better than to interfere with her Choosing.

“What is that?” Roska asked, pointing at the creature.

 _I offer a sacrifice._ The Haga dropped closer to the creature, its wings reflecting in the creature’s dark eyes. _Instead of Crimson._

“Take it away. You are not allowed to meddle.”

_You already came to a decision. I am offering a chance to make it less disruptive. Crimson may live some time yet. I was planning on eating this._

Roska nearly questioned how the Haga was planning to feast on an animal four times its size. “This is not acceptable.”

The Haga flew up to Roska’s face. It closed its mucus-coated membrane in a slow blink. _I am not forcing your hand. I am presenting another option_.

Roska twisted her mouth into a grimace. While she did not like that the Haga presented a loophole of sorts, it was not lying. Killing the creature would ultimately be less disruptive as its death was certain on either path. She sighed. This was a better option.

“Fine,” Roska muttered. “I will use this creature. You may go.”

 _Not until I tell you this._ The Haga flitted closer so its single eye filled Roska’s vision. _Remember what you are. And more importantly, remember what you are not._

Roska had no idea what the Haga meant, and she did not appreciate any attempt at giving advice. “Do not attempt to influence my Choosing directly.”

_Your Choosing does not concern me. It is what you will choose afterwards._

The Haga backed away. It dove towards the creature and ripped off a tentacle, at which the creature let out a pained huff. With part of a meal salvaged, the Haga flew out through the passageway.

Roska watched the glow from the Fate rune on the Haga’s stomach fade. She had not given any thought to what would happen after her Choosing, except for Thanos. But the Haga must know she intended to fight any threat to Fate that came. What other option was there? What had she done to cause the Haga to doubt?

Troubled, Roska sank to her knees beside the creature and reached for her dagger to make the kill. After her Choosing, she would resume her post on Asgard with Loki as king. She expected him to rise magnificently to the challenge. Meanwhile, with her Sight restored, she would know when to anticipate an attack and she could prepare and – and wait to be needed, as always. Maybe wander the streets, or sit and weave. By herself. Alone.

Unless Loki called for her like Odin had on rare occasions. But he would likely be busy with courtly duties due to the regime change. Unless Thanos attacked at once, he might forget about her all together for a while. Which was good. Asgard should be his sole focus.

Roska formed the tendrils of her casting and raised the dagger. No cause to think of life after her Choosing. She had to concentrate on the blood magic to prevent the casting slipping from her control. And blood magic was far easier to deal with than a sudden sense of loss.

* * *

As he passed by each of the caves in which the Preemond slept, Loki stopped to peer inside. He had a vague recollection of Crimson. Unfortunately, a number of the Preemond bore scars and apart from those marks, there was little to distinguish one from the other. He did not even know how Roska had been able to discern the gender of these beings. Had his mind not been otherwise preoccupied, this task would have irked him more.

In all his readings on the practices of magic, Loki had never come across mentions of memory-altering castings. He had many, many questions. And if he received the answers he wanted, he also had a solution to the problem of his claiming the throne.

In the very last cave – naturally – Loki found Crimson. She lay curled on her side, her limbs bent except for the larger leg which stretched out fully and twitched in her sleep. Loki tried to discern the best way to pick her up. The last thing he wanted was for Crimson to wake and batter him with her sharp limbs. He leaned over her, maneuvering his arms one way but then opting for another and then deciding that the first way might be better after all, but no, she might catch him in the face if he did that.

Loki backed out of the cave and folded his arms. There must be a better way. He glanced back down the corridor and unexpectedly saw Roska walking towards him. He went to form the casting that would make himself visible to her, only to realize that he had never dropped it. Holding the casting had become second nature.

“We can go,” Roska announced when she reached him, and opened a rift.

“And the Tattaticks?” Loki asked.

“Think they just woke up due to an uncomfortable sleeping position.”

Had he not known her better, Loki would have suspected that Roska was lying and had invented an excuse to get him to leave the room. As it stood, he was mildly suspicious.

“You said you needed a sacrifice.”

Roska looked sour. “The Haga brought one. It was unnecessary, but what’s done is done.” She gestured to the rift through which grey snow blew. “And now we should make haste.”

Before stepping through, Loki took a glance behind him. He was glad to be gone from this place. He did not wish to so much as hear the word “color” for at least a few centuries. No more nodding his head at the Preemond’s inane superstitions. Being bitten by a poison-addled Roska was not on the list of his fondest memories either. He touched the closed wound on his neck. At least they discovered a location for the Fang. And it had been fun making Roska flustered with his attentions.

“What are you smirking at?” On the other side of the rift, Roska lifted a hand to block the snow from her eyes and peered down the passageway as if someone must be standing on the other end. “Whatever it is, I think we have tarried long enough.”

Her sharp tone reminded Loki of how she had sent him flying down this passage. The recollection of pain licked his back, but he found his smile widening.

Loki stepped through the rift. They stood on a mountaintop in the Elivagar with Rijd’s Valley below them. Roska opened another rift, and they crossed on the mountains. Evidently the memory casting was not as taxing to her health as his invisibility. Excellent news.

Over the howling wind, Loki called, “You were able to alter the memory of two beings at once. Is there a limit to how many can be affected?”

“There are a number of factors to consider,” Roska called back. “It depends on the caster, the shared memory being altered, and the power of the sacrifice.”

“But one could alter the memories of every intelligent being in a realm? Or all nine?”

“It is a possibility, but if a being with that kind of power were approaching the Nine Realms, the Children would know.” Roska turned to him. The wind had ripped a couple of her braids loose from their knot and tossed them wildly about in a gust. “Thanos might be able to do so if he has the Infinity Stones, but we will not let that happen.”

Loki shook his head at the misinterpreted concern. “Could you do it?”

“Me? Why?”

“Because the death of the All-Father is the most powerful sacrifice one could ask for,” Loki said. “And then I would be king.”

It was nearly too perfect. He had yearned for Odin’s approval, secretly hoping that one day Odin might see that he, and not Thor, was worthy to become the next king of Asgard. So it would not be by word but deed that Odin gifted him the throne. That suited Loki fine. And to look into the faces of his subjects and know that he had tricked them all, why, that was nearly as satisfying as approval given freely. There would be no need to worry that someone suspected foul play or that a rebellious faction was forming to give Thor the throne. Thor was too loyal to depose him of his rightful place.

“No.”

Roska’s harsh voice cut through imaginings of a cheering crowd and Thor kneeling at his feet.

“No, you cannot do it or no, you will not do it?” Loki asked. Because if Roska could not perform the casting, then he needed to come up with another solution. But if she would not, then he had to convince her otherwise.

Roska brought them to the lip of a cliff. She walked inwards towards a wall covered in ice. The book of maps appeared in her hands. She looked it over and tucked it away. The wind intensified. A blast of it flew by them. Loki stumbled forward a step, but Roska, having directed the wind, stood firm. The wind smashed into the wall. The ice shattered in a crash that echoed across the mountains like thunder, and beyond, a passage was revealed.

“Blood magic of that magnitude would call forth every being of chaos from across the galaxies.” Roska walked into the passage, and Loki was forced to follow behind due to the narrow walls. “It would turn the Nine Realms into a beacon.”

To Loki, her answer sounded like a “will not,” a development he was grateful for because coming up with another solution would be difficult to say the least.

“Thanos already has his gaze turned this way,” Loki pointed out. “Let him and the rest come. We will be ready for them. Besides, I thought the Children had destroyed most of those who thrive on chaos? Or is that a story?”

“Most is not all.”

“Then, think of this as a chance to eliminate them entirely. With this siren call of chaos, whatever beings there are will act rashly and make for easier targets. Fate will never again be threatened.”

Roska huffed. “Wielding that strong a casting is threat enough.”

Loki took a second to think up a different tactic. The passage dipped down, and the air grew colder even then at the peaks of the Elivagar.

“You believe there are no coincidences,” Loki reminded her. “Why would Fate allow the Norns to show you this magic, have you need to alter the memory of two beings, and present you with this potential sacrifice if not to guide you to the same conclusion I have already reached?” 

“It is a dangerous, reckless plan, and I will have no part in it,” Roska stated.

Light filtered in at the other end of the passage. More snow and ice reached in along the stone walls in crystalline patterns. Roska and Loki stepped out onto a ledge. They were no longer in mountains, but on a plateau covered in a thick layer of snow. The entire landscape was frosted with white flakes and pale blue ice.

Any further arguments and reasonings were stolen from Loki’s mouth at the sight. He had studied the book of maps. He knew where the gaps lay. The Elivagar held one, and on its other end, Jotunheim. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. His feet itched to turn back into the gap. He did not want to be here. He never wanted to return to this realm. If it were within its power, he would erase Jotunheim from existence to eliminate the reminder of what he was.

“Why –”

Roska shushed him. Her eyes were closed. When she opened them, a rift appeared.

They walked onto another plateau, wide and sprawling. Cut stones teetered in stacks that formed buildings destroyed long ago. Carved images had cracked, deep scorch marks splotched on dilapidated walls like never-fading blood stains from a war lost.

Loki stared at a statue of a Frost Giant whose head and arms had been blasted off leaving those dark marks. Although they were alone and invisible, Loki felt as though he were in the middle of a battlefield without his armor. Sweat rose on the back of his neck despite the icy wind.

“Why would the Fang be here?” he asked quietly, afraid to speak too loudly and conjure up… a ghost perhaps. Of his sire, who he had killed foolishly thinking that would mean something. That it undid what he was. Not that he believed it would happen, and yet it would not be a surprise.

“Fenrir was killed on Jotunheim,” Roska imparted. “One of the Frost Giants was instrumental in his defeat, actually. But you will not hear that in the stories. Not the ones most people tell.”

Loki was unable to look away from the headless statue. “And his bones are buried here?”

“I do not know. But when I saw the map, I recalled passing over an area with unusually strong wards.”

“So you have been here before?”

“We both have. This is where we met.”

Loki jerked his gaze away from the statue at last, his trapped breath streaming past his lips in a plume of hot vapor. The tension Roska held in her posture at his suggestion of a memory casting had melted, though she held her arms crossed over her chest.

“Or where I met you,” Roska corrected. “I am not sure an infant can truly meet someone, as they will not remember it later. Not that I was too much older myself. Some of my recollections have become hazy.”

When Loki looked back over the plateau, he pictured the gathered troops of Asgard, grim from their losses but ready to claim a final victory. And somewhere nearby, in a drift or a snowbank, Odin had discovered him. Loki had so many questions about that day. He desired answers. But also, he did not. Roska could tell him things he wondered, and yet he might not be able to contain himself in front of her. It made him weak. It made him angry.

And still he smiled. “See?” Loki said, forcing his voice to come out even. “No coincidences.”

Roska stared at him in a way that reminded him unnervingly of how Frigga looked when he attempted to lie to her.

“Come on,” Roska beckoned. “It is over this way.”

Loki followed, walking as one stepping on glass.

After meandering around the northern portion of the plateau, Roska came to an abrupt halt. She crouched down and dug through the layer of snow. Loki crouched too and brushed away the white powder. Beneath appeared to be regular stone, except when he touched it, he sensed the waves of energy rolling off the surface. An illusion.

Loki pressed his palm to where the energy felt strongest. The casting was intricate, but he had always favored illusions. He unlocked the casting slowly until it was safe enough to break.

The smooth stone vanished to reveal a door carved with ornate metal handles. He grabbed one and Roska grabbed the other, and they pulled.

The doors slid open. The hole between was pitch black. Loki formed a ball of light in front of him. He lowered it, but when the ball reached the hole, the casting was ripped from his hold and the ball vanished. He tried again to the same effect.

“There must be a barrier to prevent castings,” Loki noted.

Roska nodded. Her pack appeared in her hands and she took out her fireglobe. Flames roared up when she opened it. Carefully, Roska held the fireglobe over the hole and dropped it, snatching her hand back. The fireglobe passed through the barrier and fell down, Loki and Roska leaning over to watch it.

With a clack, the fireglobe hit the bottom and skidded on ice, falling over on its side. A long drop but not incapacitating.

“And you are certain the Fang is down there?” Loki checked.

“Yes,” Roska affirmed. “This was the place marked on the Tattaticks’ map.” She started pulling off her amulets and stuffing them into her pack. “I will go first. Just give me a moment. I do not want the barrier breaking any of these.”

Loki reached out with his consciousness towards the barrier, prodding it for any traps or triggers. He did not find any, so he reached out and touched the palm of his hand to the barrier. It made his skin tingle. Nothing harmful there. He pushed his hand through. And the skin turned blue.

Loki snatched back his hand. His stomach rolled over, and he took a shaky breath. He reached out for the barrier, intent on crushing it, but the barrier was as strong and complex as the illusion had been. More so, in fact. And there were parts of it unfamiliar to him.

“I can retrieve the Fang alone,” Roska offered. “And you can wait here.”

Clenching his hand into a fist, Loki looked up at her, expecting pity and ready to meet it with anger. But he saw understanding and that was all, as much as he looked for something beneath it.

“I did not come all this way to be left behind,” Loki declared.

Roska licked her bottom lip. She glanced into the hole and back at him. Her shoulders braced. “I want you to know something. About that day.”

Attempting to quash the emotions rising up in a tempest, Loki dismissed her, “Well, I do not wish to hear it.”

“But you will.”

“Oh, will I?” Loki tossed up a barrier to prevent sound from reaching him and experienced an unpleasant jolt when Roska tore it apart.

“Yes, you will.” Roska’s gaze sharpened with ferocity. “The Frer wanted you to be a ward, but Odin said, ‘No. He is my son.’ Now, I do not agree with how long he waited to tell you about your race and I do not agree with many of the things he said, but he never looked at you like some creature.”

Loki attempted to stand, and the wind held him back down. He pulled at Roska’s casting, but she was too powerful.

Roska had to raise her voice slightly, but she did not stop speaking. “Frigga was not certain about you at first, but you most definitely became her favored son. She wanted to tell you. So many times she argued with the All-Father. She was so afraid that you would come to hate yourself when you knew.”

A pressure built within Loki’s chest. Energy swirled around him, burning the air with an acrid scent. He grit his teeth, staring down at his lap and his hands clenched there.

“Even Thor when he discovered what Odin had done had some choice words for the All-Father. You mocked him for mourning when you fell. They all mourned, the ones you care about. They do not see you as a monster.” Roska grabbed either side of Loki’s face, yanking his head up so that he was forced to meet her eyes. “You are _not_ a monster.”

The world around them exploded, snow flying in sheets, stone cracking. One of the doors was blasted loose and sailed into a snowdrift. Loki ripped himself free and staggered to his feet. He turned his back on Roska, panting at the release of energy.

Monster.

The word echoed through his mind in a cacophony: Roska’s voice, his own, his mother’s, Odin’s, and the hundreds of other jeering, mocking calls he heard in his head nightly whether they were no more than nightmares or the recollections of his torture. Shame clawed its way up from within him, so thick he could feel it like bile rising in his throat. He had been able to hide what he was until Thanos cut the patterns into him in scars that healing stones might diminish, but not erase.

Monsters had sired him. For who else would cast their own child, a prince by right, out into the snow to die a slow death? They had brought him into this world to toss him aside. Like Odin had cast him aside. Like everyone had. Thor was praised as the stronger one, the more handsome one, the better heir, the better son. No matter how hard Loki tried, he never could step out from under Thor’s shadow. Well, that shadow had been cast over him since birth.

“You nearly asked me a question once about what happened.” Roska had moved to stand behind him. “Are you certain you do not wish to ask it now? It may help.”

“Please be quiet,” Loki murmured.

He would show them all. When he claimed the throne of Asgard, his race became meaningless. He would be something more than one of the Frost Giants or the Aesir. He would be a king. The greatest king that the Nine Realms had ever seen.

“Not this time.”

Loki’s fingers curved at his sides, the tendons straining. He did not wish to discuss this. He wanted to be king so no one would ever discuss it again.

“Loki,” Roska said softly and touched his arm.

Loki rounded on her. Rage readied a scream as his mind offered a thousand ways to hurt Roska, the little things he could say to break her spirit, the insecurities he could exploit to shut her up and make her never speak to him again.

Roska stared up at him. Her earnest expression flinched as if his anger were an exploding flame which temporarily blinded her. But she lifted her chin.

“Say it then,” Roska demanded. “Try to hurt me if it will make you feel better. But if that is all you have to say to me, make it quick. Acting like a child is beneath you, and I came to you looking for a king.”

Oh, the mocking vitriol he could heap upon her for speaking to him this way.

Instead, Loki pulled Roska towards him and kissed her.

Because doing so silenced her. And it would knock her off guard. And he needed her to agree to the memory casting. And for all her protests, he knew that she felt something for him. And no one else saw him as the king of Asgard.

And Loki hoped the impulse had not been a mistake.


	13. Tólf

This was not the response Roska had anticipated.

When Loki took her by the arms, Roska expected him to toss her across the plateau for calling him a child. She did not expect to find herself crushed against Loki with his lips on hers.

Roska clutched his tunic, wide-eyed. She almost sent _him_ flying across the plateau, but was so taken aback that she hesitated.

Loki's grip loosened. Not enough to free her, just enough to become gentler. Feeling less trapped made Roska more confused. Was this a trick? She had seen loving kisses and lusting kisses, dutiful kisses and playful kisses. She had no context for kissing after both parties were angry with each other.

Except once, Roska suddenly remembered. After a husband and wife fought, the wife had rushed over to him and given him a long kiss and apologized. Could this kiss be an apology? Loki was no husband to her, not even a companion. He did not mean anything to her. He could not.

Loki broke the kiss. As he released her, an impulse burst through Roska with the speed of a star hurtling across the night sky.

Roska tugged Loki back down as she leaned up to close the space between them. Loki flinched as if she had startled him, but he slipped his arms around her.

The kiss was - It was nice. Loki shielded her from the worst of the icy winds and his lips had warmed from being pressed against hers. Roska did not feel the awkwardness she experienced with Hylir, nor the sense of detached interest in the action itself. Kissing Hylir had made Roska want to close her mind and step outside of herself. Kissing Loki made Roska not want to think about anything but the two of them while she enjoyed the moment. So she did.

Until they parted.

Roska could not say whether she had been the one to lean back or if it had been Loki or if they had come to an unconscious agreement, but whatever the reason, the breath's width of cool air between them was enough to bring Roska to her senses.

What had she done? Roska pushed Loki away as she took a step back. It was nothing. Only a kiss. The beginnings of a grin from Loki brought on a sharp and unexpected pain like a dagger slipped beneath her breastplate. Roska turned away, angry that she had allowed herself to be taken in by him.

Roska crouched at the hole leading underground, determined to focus on the far more important task of reaching the Fang of Fenrir. The anti-magic barrier across the hole had been cast with a great amount of power, likely drawn from more than one caster. She briefly considered asking the rune stones who had moved the Fang, but the information was unlikely to be important - should the stones even give her an answer.

Having already removed her amulets - except the one given to her by the Norns; but their magic was certainly strong enough to pass through the barrier - Roska pulled off her enchanted boots and shoved them into a pocket dimension. She quickly swung her legs over the edge and dropped.

Shards of ice tumbled along the wall that Roska braced herself against as she slid down, rapidly gaining speed. She pushed off right before the wall ended to avoid landing on top of the fireglobe she had tossed down. With a flick of her wrist, Roska pulled at the air to cushion her landing.

Except the casting would not form.

A sheet of blue-white ice broke her fall with a crack that echoed off the walls. Roska let out a pained breath as she rolled and slid to a stop. Her left shoulder throbbed from the impact. As Roska sat up, she could see where it had hit the ice, thin fractures reaching out towards her.

She had not been able to use magic. Roska looked around at the ice-covered cavern. It seemed there was more protection here than a barrier. This whole place had been warded against magic, a development which made Roska uneasy. If there were any traps or other dangers, she would be useless against them. She wiggled her toes. Her woolen hosen would only keep her feet warm for a short time. She should have kept her boots on. Without magic, she was unable to access the pocket dimension to retrieve them.

"Roska?" Loki called.

"Yes, I am here," Roska called back. She rose to her feet, holding out her arms for balance to avoid slipping. Walking was going to be a difficulty. "I am unharmed."

There was a caster she knew of with an aptitude for enchanting items. He likely would have been able to fix her boots.

"What do you see?" asked Loki.

"There is a tunnel." Tucked in a corner, the tunnel was shrouded in shadow. Roska took a careful step towards the fireglobe. "I will find the Fang. Wait where you are."

While it was within the realm of possibility that the castings on Loki would hold - or merely be suppressed, rather than destroyed - Roska did not want to take the chance. Furthermore, Loki might be her only way out even if he had to tie garments together to make a rope.

"Do you perhaps have a spare set of boots..." Splinters of ice rattled against the floor beneath the hole. "...in your pocket di- Wait!"

Roska ran forward, arms outstretched. She slipped and fell on her stomach with a yelp. Loki landed not far away, barely missing the fireglobe. Roska smacked a hand against the ground. If he had waited but a moment, she would have mentioned the warding.

Loki pushed himself up on his elbows, face contorted in a grimace. His appearance had reverted to its natural state. Roska wanted to be furious with him, but when Loki stared at his blue skin as though it was covered in a blanket of writhing insects, she could manage nothing stronger than annoyance.

"I told you that I would get the Fang," Roska grumbled.

"And you expected me to, what, play in the snow while I waited?" Loki sat back. He closed his eyes and his brow furrowed.

Roska noted, "You will not be able to create an illusion if that is what you are attempting. This place is warded." She scooted towards the fireglobe.

Loki's eyes shot open, the flash of panic given over to an expression that Roska expected mirrored her own frustration. "Why did you not tell me that before?" His head darted back and forth as he looked around. "Where are you?"

"Over here."

Roska almost picked up the fireglobe, but if she touched it, Loki would no longer be able to see as her invisibility engulfed the light. Likely she would have slipped and set herself on fire anyway.

"Why is your magic working?"

"Mine is not. The Norns' magic is powerful enough to resist the warding, for the time being at least. Now, come pick up the fireglobe."

Loki moved to take the fireglobe while Roska maneuvered backwards so she could use the wall to get up. He gripped the bottom of the stand so the fireglobe acted as a torch, though he shifted it lower than a person would usually carry a torch - so the skin on his hand was not in his sightline, Roska thought with a shake of her head.

As anticipated, walking proved to be an immediate problem. Loki strode forward at his normal speed, and Roska tried to keep pace which resulted in two falls.

"Having trouble with the ice, are we?" Loki asked, looking not quite at her.

Roska shoved a hand into a divot at the tunnel's entrance and pulled herself up. She had half a mind to rip off her hosen, but was unsure her bare feet would make walking less problematic. And she would grow cold more rapidly. "My boots are in a pocket dimension. If you could walk at a slower pace, I would appreciate it."

Instead, Loki offered his arm. "Best we not make our stay last any longer than necessary."

Very true, especially when the loss of the invisibility casting meant that Loki could be spotted by Heimdall whose gift for seeing across the realms, unlike that of a scryer, was unfortunately not magical but inherent. Roska looped an arm through his, and they carried on.

The tunnel split, each path seemingly identical. Loki guided Roska over to the left path. He held the fireglobe to the wall so that the ice melted enough to leave a sign that they had come this way. Sound thinking on his part because right around the bend, the new tunnel split into three paths.

Initially, Roska kept an eye out for traps, but her attention in that respect waned. There was no need to set traps. The entire place was a trap. The tunnels formed a labyrinth of blue and white ice. Sometimes they were led underground where the perfect smoothness of the walls reflected Loki and the fireglobe he held, and each footfall disturbed the air. Then, suddenly, the ceiling would be gone and the brightness of the moons shone down upon them.

Roska let herself be guided about from path to path for her choice in tunnels would be no more educated than Loki's. Though they passed by some tunnels previously visited, Roska thought Loki must be taking them closer to the Fang for she began to feel different. Her body grew warmer despite the ice, including her feet which had become numb.

Warmth turned to heat. Sweat beaded on Roska's skin, and she slid several times, gripping Loki tightly to avoid falling. A dull ache formed in her head. She looked to Loki, but he showed no signs of illness, only mounting irritation.

"Here," Loki snapped at last when Roska nearly pulled them both onto their backs. He stopped and yanked one of his boots off. "I do not need them."

By then, Roska thought she understood what was happening. She had larger problems than the ice beneath her feet. Larger than the Fang.

The wards were finally having an effect on the Norns' magic. A great deal of the heat localized to the amulet around Roska's neck and her headache had increased.

"Are you certain?" Roska asked as she tugged the amulet from beneath her breastplate by the chain because the amulet itself was too hot to touch.

"I. Do. Not. Need. Them," Loki snarled, kicking off his other boot. He ripped off his hosen as well and stuffed them into an inside pocket of his travel cloak.

He was right. The majority of Frost Giants did not wear anything to cover their feet. At the thought, Roska realized there was more to his anger than the labyrinth. By taking off his boots, Loki was forced to acknowledge his heritage. That he would do so for her - albeit due to annoyance - meant something. Perhaps she had gotten through to him about not being a monster, if only a little.

"Thank you," murmured Roska.

Loki grunted in reply.

The boots were much too large for Roska's feet. At least she was not sliding around any longer. Each footfall pounded against the ground, except the pressure seemed to fall against her head rather than where she stepped. Whereas the moonlight had been a welcome respite from the monotonous tunnels, the brightness of it now made Roska wince. She concentrated on the ground a distance in front of her where the fireglobe did not reflect so intensely.

Her skin became slick with sweat. The invisibility casting fought the wards, encasing her in a form-fitting bubble of friction. The worst part was her amulet. It warmed the metal of her breastplate, so much so that Roska expected to feel it burn away her tunic beneath. She yearned to rip the chain from her neck; anything to relieve herself from the blistering heat. A glance at the amulet sent a spear of pain through her head. Its light appeared to have grown brighter.

Roska attempted to ignore the heat, preoccupying herself with strategizing for after they had the Fang. She found concentrating for long to be trying. Her mind wavered between thoughts, the memory casting, the heat, cracks in the ice, Thanos, the heat, the patterns on Loki's face, the press of his lips.

Loki must have kissed her to avoid her insistence that they speak about his being a Frost Giant. If he did not wish to have the discussion, then so be it. He could continue to be in pain for the rest of his life. It mattered not one whit to her. No more than the kiss or the wound his grin had inflicted. As for her kissing him back, physical desire was not forbidden. And Loki had been the one to kiss her first. In her estimation, it was far more common for someone to return a kiss than not. She acted out of expectation. Nothing more.

Heat sent a particularly sharp throb through her head. Only a bit farther. Roska kept repeating the phrase to herself, praying it were true. No Child came back after removing the amulet. The warding made for a rare circumstance in which the casting could fail on its own, but she did not believe her lack of choice in the matter would make a difference.

Many twists and turns later, Loki demanded, "Take this as well." He unclasped his travel cloak and held it out.

Roska did not reach for the cloak. She had not the faintest notion why Loki offered it. Adding another layer would be akin to donning fur-lined garments to visit the raging fires of Mudspelheim.

"Well, go on," insisted Loki, giving the cloak a shake. "I can barely think with your shivering."

His comment confused Roska further, until she noticed that either she had never let go of his arm or had taken it again at some point. She dropped his arm and curled her fingers into a fist. Sure enough, she was trembling.

"I am not cold. Quite the opposite. The warding and the Norns' castings are at odds, and it is creating some unpleasant effects," Roska explained. "We need to find the Fang soon."

"Really? Whatever for? I thought we were going for a pleasant stroll," Loki remarked while he flung his cloak over one shoulder rather than don it. A glinting sheen on his skin indicated he also felt warm. One or both the invisibility and illusion castings on him must be suppressed, but still holding. "I am enjoying myself immensely. And you are being so incredibly helpful."

"I do not know what you expect of me. I am as knowledgeable about this labyrinth as you are."

Up ahead, Roska spotted a patch of light reflecting off the ice which indicated an opening. She braced herself, eyes narrowing against the anticipated pain.

"When you stated that you knew where the Fang was, I presumed that meant we needed no more from the Tattaticks. You should have allowed me to interrogate them further." Loki flung out his arms towards the tunnel around them. "There must be some simpler way than this if the Preemond were to be able to access the Fang. Unless whoever hid the Fang had no intentions of allowing anyone at all to reach it." He let out a huff. "I knew the illusion over the entrance was too complicated."

"Then why did you not say - ah." Roska pressed her palms to her temples as the pain in her head increased, though they had not yet reached the opening.

Oblivious, Loki continued, "Why did I say nothing? Because you seemed so certain."

Roska ground her teeth. Her eyes watered.

_A woman with dark skin and wide, brown eyes stood in the center of a room. She appeared to be cross, staring down as her nostrils flared. She held a small dress clutched in her hands._

The pressure in Roska's head alleviated, only to return at full force. She had nearly lost consciousness, a black wall like sleep temporarily enveloping her being. The pain and heat must be getting to her.

Roska picked up her pace. They had to get out of the labyrinth. The Tattaticks had been left with a location, so she should work under the assumption that they could find their way without a specific map. Loki made a point that there might be an easier way to access the Fang, but that would entail going back to the cavern and figuring out how to get to the surface. So, presuming that the Tattaticks were meant to pass through the labyrinth, how would they find their way?

Wiping at her eyes to clear them, Roska surveyed the paths. She searched for crystals and patterned cracks and colors hidden in the ice, anything that might be connected with the Preemond. There had to be something.

Roska blinked in surprise when her gaze swept down from the ceiling and Loki was staring back at her.

"You were visible. Only for a moment."

Fear put a bitter taste in Roska's mouth. "I am not sure how much longer the Norns' castings are going to last."

"And what happens if they fade?" Loki inquired.

"I do not know. Except that I will be of no use to you."

They might be trapped without shelter or food. Loki might die down here.

Roska stood taller in his oversized boots. She refused to allow the possibility to come to pass. This was her Choosing, and she meant to see Loki sit on the throne. She had to get him to the Fang. So she must think harder.

" _Sleep, my child, sleep. No one will harm you," a voice sang quietly. "No magic nor beast nor giant's teeth will ever find you."_

The sensation of being awoken by pain rolled through Roska, only her eyes were already open and her right foot in mid-step. What was happening? If she lost consciousness, she expected herself to collapse. Not to keep going. She needed a level of control to walk through the tunnels without bumping into walls. So if she was not aware, someone had to be. Loki keeping her straight or she was moving on instinct while the casting on the amulet fought the warding or... What was...? Or the warding. Or she was losing control to a non-Draugr version of herself, and that woman kept walking.

Roska pushed those thoughts away and considered what she had learned about the Preemond. They communicated through a combination of tapping on their chests, vibrating flaps on their mouths, and the occasional gesture. Not helpful. The wind howled, sweeping through the tunnels and their footfalls varied slightly in pitch, but neither sound came close. Roska tried making her left step heavier to imitate the loping gate of the Preemond to no effect. Loki had occasionally been touching the walls, but she tried poking them with a single finger which was about the width of the Preemond's tapered limbs.

With a sinking feeling, Roska wondered if signs had been left in the form of auras or colors beyond an Aesir's perception. Color made the most sense.

_She smelled delicious baked bread. Her arms reached upwards towards the table for a slice. It was too high, so she played with the air to knock the bread into her hand. Except the loaf fell on the ground. Shame washed over her._

What had she been thinking about? Roska felt disoriented, temporarily uncertain where she was. The tunnels. Colors. She peered down at the floor. The ice gleamed the clear light blue of a polished surface while the walls had frosted over white. Roska could not recall seeing any other colors.

They came to a split. Both tunnels bore holes where Loki had marked their entrances on previous passes. He stood in the direct middle of the split, breathing as if he were about to summon enough energy to destroy the tunnels - if such a casting were possible.

Roska's eyes slid from the tunnel with clear blue ice to the tunnel where the ice was patched with white frost. "But their skin is white. White is good," one of the Preemond had said upon observing Roska and Loki in their Light Elf disguises. And when Loki asked what colors to avoid, she had told him to steer clear of a few shades of light blue.

Loki moved towards the tunnel of pure blue ice. Roska grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the other tunnel.

"This way," she insisted.

Roska expected Loki to question her, but he must have been fed up with the whole affair because he offered nothing more than raised eyebrows.

Now that Roska had spotted the pattern, she could not fathom how she had ever missed it. If they walked down a path that did not show signs of the white frost, she turned them around. Loki picked up her observation for he began choosing paths accordingly.

_Her face shoved against a man's belly, soft and hairy and warm, jiggling as he laughed. His arms surrounded her. She was safe._

She gaped at the tunnel around her and stopped walking. What was this place? She peered at a man's back retreating. It seemed she had gotten lost. While she was not supposed to speak with strangers, she needed help. She could ask the man, ask Loki.

Roska shook her head, which made it hurt worse but brought her back to herself. She hurried to catch up.

_A friend waved to her, his long curls bouncing. "Sigyn, are you coming? Mother said we could play in the fields."_

Leaning against a wall, Sigyn felt the cold seeping into her body. Her skin so warm that it melted the ice. She must have gotten sick. She wiped dripping sweat out of her eyes. She turned and pressed herself back against the wall. A Frost Giant! Sigyn had never seen one outside of illustrated storybooks.

"We need to keep moving," the Frost Giant prompted.

Sigyn squeezed her eyes shut, and Roska opened them.

Loki was staring at her. "We need to keep moving," he stated with a deliberate slowness that made Roska think he had already said this before.

"Yes," she agreed. "With haste."

Walking became sprinting. Roska tripped over her boots. Loki saved her from hitting the ice, but Roska would have rather fallen. If Loki could catch her, he could see her. She also noticed that he was much warmer than he should be with pale splotches on his cheeks.

They ran through the tunnels, the light of the fireglobe becoming the streak of a speeding craft flying alongside them. When Roska forgot where she was, she would come to herself to discover Loki dragging her along. Each time she became less sure of coming back.

Then, Roska blinked and found herself sitting in a tunnel alone with tears on her cheeks. She stood unsteadily and spun around. Roska did not fault Loki for leaving, as she was holding him back. Still, she had no desire to be left behind and took off after him.

The tunnel widened. Roska burst out onto an open plateau where she came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes flared in disbelief. Impossible.

Taking up the majority of the plateau was a gigantic wolf. Sitting back on its haunches, the wolf was seven or eight times her height with thick black fur and eyes like dark orbs inside of which stretched frequent bursts of lightning. Strips of fur were missing in lines where the wolf had once been bound with magic-infused chains and on its chest it bore a large scar from the Fang being driven through its heart in a killing thrust.

Yet, here Fenrir sat very much alive.

An illusion. He must be a construct to scare off trespassers. Fenrir flicked his tail idly as he stared down at Roska. Except the wards should not allow for an illusion.

"So this is your companion," Fenrir rumbled. His eyes rolled over to his left, and Roska glanced in the same direction.

Loki braced himself against a boulder, which had splintered from the force of his body hitting it. His face and hands were torn open in several places. The scrapes did not appear serious, but they filled Roska with concern all the same. She hastened over to him.

"We were having a nice talk, and he ruined it by attacking me," Fenrir explained as Roska crouched between him and Loki.

"Are you all right?" Roska asked.

"Fine," Loki muttered. "He allowed me close enough that I thought I could pluck the Fang from his mouth."

"He cannot be the real Fenrir. Can he?"

Loki shrugged. "I would say 'no,' but then I am not certain what he is."

"I can hear you perfectly, you know," Fenrir informed them. "And I am Fenrir."

Roska stood and pivoted to face him, keeping herself in front of Loki. "How is that possible?"

Fenrir lifted a back foot to scratch behind his ear. "When the Haga and Frer created this place, they summoned my spirit from Hel to protect my fang. I agreed, of course. It was either that or return to Hel." His nose twitched as he licked it. "That realm is most unpleasant, while sitting here has merely been tedious."

The Haga and the Frer had moved the Fang. Roska's mind raced. If Children had brought the Fang here, Fate must have guided them. And Fate had brought her here as well. There must be a way for her to get the Fang.

Loki laughed quietly, rising to his feet. "No illusions."

"What?" Roska asked.

"Just something someone said to me at the beginning of our journey."

Roska frowned, but she did not have time to puzzle out his meaning. "Did the Children mention anything about who might claim the Fang?"

Fenrir bared his teeth in a manner like a sneer. "Yes. Some race called the Preemond. Fortunately, they have not come or I would be forced to return from whence I came."

"Surely another Child of Norn may reclaim the Fang as well," Loki theorized. He rested a hand on Roska's shoulder. "This is the Draugr."

"I see the amulet," Fenrir said. "And no, she may not take it."

Roska sighed. No part of her Choosing had been simple thus far. It was too much to hope for such an easy solution.

"I am supposed to destroy anyone who reaches me, with the exception of the Preemond as per some agreement between them and the Children." Fenrir stretched, an action which took up almost the entirety of the plateau. "It does look as though your Draugr may come to her end on her own. She looks unwell. Wards taking their toll? How about... now?"

The pain in Roska's head tripled and she let out a shriek, bending double as she clutched her head. The air around her blazed in an inferno.

_Frigya, her sister, stuck out her tongue and blew loudly. Sun poured in through a window. Rain fell outside. Her mother smiled. A feeling of sadness. The softness of her featherbed surrounding her. The pull of her siblings vying for the covers. Her father smiling. Singing with her family out in the fields._

Sigyn blinked and sat up. She let out a shuddering gasp. A Frost Giant and a huge wolf. She rubbed her eyes frantically, hoping she was in a night terror and would wake up. The monsters did not disappear. She tried to use what magic she knew to push them away, but could not form a casting.

The Frost Giant sank down in front of her, and Roska scuttled backwards against a cracked boulder.

"Roska?" the Frost Giant said.

Sigyn tried to make herself small. She wrapped her arms around her legs and curled into a ball. She wanted to cover her eyes, but was too afraid of the Frost Giant coming closer.

"Draugr?"

A memory stirred. She knew about the Draugr from a storybook. However, Sigyn did not know why a Frost Giant would be asking her about some story. She shivered. Frigya used to tell her that Frost Giants snuck into houses at night and took annoying children to eat for their dinner. Her father made Frigya stop saying such things, and told Sigyn that Frigya was only trying to scare her. Sigyn was terrified that her sister had been right all along. Or that the Frost Giant would feed her to his wolf.

"You need to remember who you are," the Frost Giant commanded. "You are the Draugr."

Sigyn shook her head. Her bottom lip trembled. "I want to go home," she whimpered. "Please take me back home."

Behind the Frost Giant, the wolf showed his massive teeth. "Scared, child?" he rumbled.

One of his paws flicked out and swatted at her. Sigyn tumbled across the plateau. It hurt everywhere she landed. When she landed on her stomach, tears of pain and terror welled in her eyes. A hand touched her shoulder. Sigyn shrieked. She crawled backwards from the Frost Giant.

The Frost Giant tilted his head and looked her up and down. His brow furrowed. "What is your name?"

"Sigyn Bathurdottir."

"All right, Sigyn." The Frost Giant smiled, which scared Sigyn further. "I need you to go over and wait in that tunnel for me. Then, I will take you home."

Sigyn could not move. She remained crouched on her hands and knees.

The wolf flexed his paws causing his sharp claws to gouge the ice. "Who is she more scared of, I wonder?"

When Sigyn saw his paw reach out again, she attempted to rise. But the wolf was too large to avoid. Even the Frost Giant's attempt to grab and leap over the wolf's paw failed. They skidded almost to the edge of the plateau before the wolf batted them the other way like a hound playing with its kill.

Sigyn landed hard, her legs tangling with that of the Frost Giant. He grabbed the back of her tunic. To drag her off to the tunnel to eat her.

Springing to her feet, Sigyn dashed behind the boulder. She peered around a corner. "My father will come for you!" she screamed. Sobs wracked her body. "My father will come and slay you! He fought in the war! He killed a hundred Frost Giants just like you!"

Sigyn swelled with triumph when the Frost Giant looked hurt. She hoped he was just as scared of her father as she was of him. Her father would strike him down. He had said killing a Frost Giant was just like killing an animal that sickness had turned dangerous. He took no joy in it, but dangerous animals could not be allowed to live.

The wolf made a wheezing sound similar to a laugh.

Pain swelled and abated in her head. Roska sucked in a breath. She had almost lost hold of herself. Why was she crouched behind a boulder? She spotted Loki on his side and looking at her like a whipped dog. Had she knocked him to the ground? But his expression, she must have done more than that. The other version of her.

Roska hurried to help Loki up. "What did I do?"

Loki's face had hardened into a mask of indifference that Roska did not believe for an instant. He knocked into her offered hand as he got up on his own.

He needed to know whatever she had done, it had not been her. Roska explained, "With the amulet failing, I believe I am changing into the person I would be if I had never been a Child."

"It seems that is exactly what is happening," Loki affirmed tersely. "You act like a young girl, and I do mean that literally."

Roska shook her head. To be trapped in the mind of a girl, it was a worse future than she had imagined. Even as a punishment should the amulet fail, such a fate made her skin crawl.

"Loki, please. Tell me what I said so that I may apologize."

Voice devoid of emotion, Loki confided, "Apparently, your father killed a hundred Frost Giants just like me."

Roska was horrified. That was how she would think of Loki if the memory casting broke. Exactly what he believed himself to be. One of the terrifying beings lurking in children's tales and war stories.

"I do not want to be the girl I was. I cannot live like that," Roska whispered. She had told Loki he was not a monster, and Roska prayed that he did not believe she thought otherwise. His look of hurt, it crushed some wall inside her, a part of her that said she cared about no one. She cared if Loki was in pain.

Fenrir's tail wagged gleefully. "You were quaking in fear of him. I do remember the tales of Frost Giants I heard as a pup. Vicious, nasty creatures, are they not?" The corners of Loki's eyes creased as he fought to keep his expression neutral.

Roska ignored Fenrir for Loki. "If my father were standing here right now, I would kill him before he touched you. I would kill anyone who dared." A slight change shifted Loki's expression. Doubt?

Roska tucked her amulet behind her breastplate so as not to burn him and flung herself upon him in an embrace. Not impulsively, as before, but purposefully. Words were weapons to Loki. They could be twisted, manipulated. Loki distrusted words, even from her own mouth which had never spoken false to him. But an embrace meant more. Precisely what it meant for her, Roska was choosing not to examine. At this time, she cared about what it meant to Loki for this might be the last of what he remembered about her.

Her actions worked. Loki's arms slid around her.

"If the casting breaks, promise me you will not let me live that way," Roska insisted when she looked up. She could not bear to think of herself as an ignorant child trapped in a woman's body.

Loki considered her. "I swear it."

Roska leaned against him. Fenrir yawned as if their exchange were boring him. Roska squinted. His bottom left canine had strips of leather wrapped around it. The Fang, it had to be. She needed to get close enough to pluck it from his mouth before the casting broke. Otherwise Loki would be on his own in an attempt to trick Fenrir out of it.

Of course. Roska was unsure if she could pull off such trickery as well as him, but she had to make an attempt. Only first, she needed to give Loki some kind of sign. Roska tried to think like him.

She glanced up and winked. And then shoved Loki backwards.

"Get away from me!" Roska shrieked, running from him.

Roska halted abruptly in front of Fenrir. Act child-like. After centuries observing people, she should have some idea how to emulate them. She widened her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Do you belong to the Frost Giant?" Roska asked.

Fenrir huffed in affront. "No. I am Fenrir, the great wolf spirit."

"Will you take me home?"

"No." Fenrir's lips curled like she was a fly flitting around his muzzle.

Roska shuffled her feet. She prayed to the Norns that this was working. "Can I pet you?"

Fenrir huffed once more. "I am no dog."

Loki spoke up. "Child, come away from there." He had picked up her trick, hopefully, aiding in the charade. "Come follow me, and I will take you home."

Roska could not think how to respond, so she kept her focus on Fenrir. "My friend has a wolf. He likes being scratched behind the ears. Do you like being scratched behind the ears?"

"No one would ever dare." Roska ignored Fenrir. Most children seemed to ignore authority figures they did not know anyway. She reached up and scratched behind Fenrir's left ear. "I am akin to a god. I do not... Hmm..." His ear was half the size of her. Roska used both hands to scratch vigorously. Between her nerves, the heat, and the sharp movements, she felt sick. She hoped that acting like a child would not spur another bout of unconsciousness. Maybe her last bout. "This is beneath my dignity but... hmm... mmm..."

Roska moved in front of the ear. She crossed over in between his eyes and down his muzzle while Loki called her away or insisted that she remember herself at turns. When he moved towards her, Roska shuffled over to the other side, putting Fenrir between them. Fenrir watched her the whole time. He snarled when Roska got too close to his teeth. She jumped, nervous he would snap at her, but she had no other plan. So she timidly scratched higher, and Fenrir allowed it.

"How does it feel, boy?" Fenrir questioned with a happy groan when Roska scratched below his ear. She forced herself not to look over at Loki. She could barely see anyway. Black framed her vision, threatening to overtake it. "To know your companion is reduced to a child. I believe you promised to kill her? I think that will be an amusing sight before I tear you-"

Roska plunged her hands into Fenrir's open mouth and yanked out the Fang.

Fenrir howled so loudly that the plateau shook. He thrashed, snarling as he faded away. The last Roska saw of him was a hateful eye staring straight at her. She gasped as the temperature around her dropped. The pain in her head diminished to a dull ache. The wards had vanished with Fenrir, and the Norns' castings held. Thank Fate. She teared up in relief.

The Fang lay in her hands. Roska expected it to be wet with saliva, but the Fang shone from age-old polish. From tip to hilt, the curved tooth was about the length of her forearm. The hilt had been constructed from a layer of metal melted around the base of the tooth, etched with symbols, and then wrapped in strips of tough hide. Some of the strips had come loose, sagging to reveal the symbols beneath. Roska recognized one as the rune for truth. Another was used in binding magic practiced on Vanaheim. Some she had never seen.

"At last, we have the Fang." Loki looked like his Aesir-self and was grinning from ear-to-ear. "That was an excellent trick. It seems that while I was learning magic from you, you were learning something valuable from me as well."

Roska smiled. It pleased her that he was impressed with her trickery. "I am glad it worked. And you, did your castings hold?" Although chaos magic was powerful in itself, the Norns' magic should be stronger than anything she had worked and their magic had almost been destroyed.

"The illusion held, barely I think. The invisibility, no," Loki confided. "I have constructed my own shield for now."

That made sense. The illusion itself would have been suppressed quickly having been created by the Frer alone. However, both the Frer and Odin had assisted her in making the illusion permanent, and there had been a very large sacrifice from the deaths during the war.

"May I hold it?" Loki requested. Roska handed him the Fang of Fenrir by the hilt. He held the Fang up, examining it.

As pleased as Roska felt to have completed this part of the journey, it was a fleeting feeling. Because now they needed to decide how to get Loki on the throne after the All-Father's death, and so far, there had only been one suggestion. A suggestion Roska did not like in the slightest. But this journey had taken longer than anticipated, and there existed the possibility that Loki and herself were seen on their way to get the Fang. Which made for further complications and not much time left. Not much time at all.


	14. Prettán

Loki had never imagined circumstances on Jotunheim that would bring him anything but misery. However, he strolled onto the pathway that had mysteriously appeared upon the banishment of Fenrir with a spring in his step and the assurance that their scraps of a plan finally fit into a cohesive whole.

The majority of this journey passed with him uncertain of the existence of the Fang of Fenrir, but it now rested safely tucked in his pocket dimension. Roska still retained her power. She had returned his boots to him and appeared steady as she put on her own as well as her amulets. While he hated every moment of his physical illusion being suppressed, the destruction of the invisibility casting meant that Heimdall was likely to have seen him - for it was a sensible assumption that after invading Midgard, the All-Father would be looking for the rest of eternity to yank him back home on a leash - which made for an excellent excuse to goad Roska into creating the memory casting.

The throne of Asgard rested soundly within his grasp.

Loki offered a hand to help Roska up. The pathway was one of stone, rather than ice, covered with a thin layer of snow and leading from the edge of the plateau towards higher ground. The path rose in uneven ledges, hastily carved.

Roska eyed his hand like a viper's nest. Whatever happiness she had felt at finally holding the Fang no longer showed on her face. Loki had thought Roska would be ecstatic to have her faith in its existence rewarded, but no doubt she had realized what they must do next. And whatever camaraderie their trials here had bought him faded in the light of time she now had to consider the implications of their actions.

Roska ignored his hand and pulled herself up onto the higher path. She peered off at a distant point and made a cutting motion in another unsuccessful attempt to open a rift. While most of the warding against magic vanished with Fenrir, a barrier remained to keep them from leaving by any way but this path or the tunnels. Loki thought that the barrier, along with the labyrinth, might predate its use as the Fang's resting place.

When he voiced the theory aloud, Roska had sighed and said, "Then I suppose I had best not attempt to break it." Still, she made periodic efforts to split open a rift.

"Eager to be away?" Loki asked.

Roska rubbed her hands together. "And you are not?"

"It was trying, admittedly, but in meeting Fenrir we have made this a quest for the ages. Not that we shall ever share it, of course. And I was able to get a glimpse of who you were before the 'Norns' took your memories."

Learning her true name gave Loki an opportunity to delve into Roska's past. He was curious enough to have an archivist search through records for a trace of Sigyn Bathurdottir. Her past could lead him to the "Norns," whom he would be very interested in meeting. Otherwise, the information may become useful in other ways, depending on who Roska was related to and such.

Roska did not share his curiosity. "Say nothing of it to me," she commanded.

"So you remember nothing?" questioned Loki. The amulet must have hidden the memories again. "Are there gaps or does your mind piece together those moments into something else?"

"Do not test my patience on this."

Loki took in the fear that made Roska's voice tremble, and, for once, he bit his tongue. He did not know the specifics of how the memory casting worked. However, it seemed conceivable that bringing up memories risked affecting the casting should he cause her to remember. Roska would be useless to him in a child's state of her mind. And it was not a fate he wished upon her.

_"He killed a hundred Frost Giants just like you!"_

Loki grimaced. Nor was it a side of Roska that he wished to see again. Although, not a surprising one.

"Very well," he acquiesced. "We shall not discuss it then."

Loki let the crunch of snow fill the air instead, his mood dampened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roska reach towards him with a look of regret, but she pulled back at the last moment.

They traveled at a steady pace until Roska flung out an arm to stop him. Loki stumbled, lost in thought over perfecting how to best convince her to use the memory casting. He looked about for some danger. Nothing met his eye. Roska had turned her gaze upon the cliff that the path led towards. With a glance at him, she tapped an ear. Loki strained to listen, but could not hear anything unexpected. Just wind and a sparse creak of ice.

The air around them shimmered in a protective sound barrier. Yet, Roska silenced him with, "I must listen," as she crept onwards.

Soon, Loki heard it as well. Voices. The closer the voices grew, the more familiar they sounded. By the time the path reached its end, he had placed them. He stepped onto the plateau with the hole leading down to the labyrinth. The path crumbled silently into nothingness behind them. Loki did not notice. He was much more interested in the figures of Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun standing around the hole, as well as the mass of troops stationed about the plateau. The Rainbow Bridge must have been repaired.

"I still think I should go tell them," Fandral said, twirling his rapier in one hand. "Thor and Sif ought to know that Loki and his companion have gotten their hands on the Fang. And that they are no longer visible. After all, Heimdall took the trouble to send word."

Volstagg shook his massive head. "Thor charged us with standing guard should they come back this way."

Loki felt a tug on his arm. He joined Roska standing on a rush of wind over a chasm so that patrolling sentinels could walk the perimeter without incident.

"I think there are more than enough guards," Fandral pointed out. He nodded towards the troops standing at attention.

"I am not so sure," Hogun mused. He surveyed the troops. "Odin mustered a force very quickly to stand behind us. He must have a reason."

Fandral spun the rapier into his other hand. "Well, the Fang is a weapon of legendary power."

"But it is still only a dagger and not very large. And there would have been five of us against two."

Volstagg stroked his beard. "Thor did not mention much of Loki's companion."

"No, he did not," Hogun agreed, and the Warriors Three grimly contemplated the hole.

The wind beneath Loki disappeared and his stomach lurched as he fell through a rift. He staggered, one foot sliding on ice. Roska had brought them to an expansive, frozen lake. Not far off rested the gap Loki had twice used to sneak Frost Giants into Asgard.

Excitement fully restored to him, Loki headed straight for the free-standing sheet of ice that covered the gap's entrance. Odin had sent Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three, and an entire army after them. The mighty All-Father was afraid. The old man knew his time had come. Loki hoped Odin begged for mercy in the end, for then Loki could remind him that he had been given the chance to choose between his sons.

While Odin must be barricaded inside of Hlidskialf, Loki pondered if he could convince Roska to take them to the Rainbow Bridge at the last moment. There he could savor the light fading from Odin's eyes as he tossed the former king into the abyss as he had been so heartlessly thrown.

Loki spun around when he noticed that Roska had not kept pace. She was dragging her feet several lengths behind him. He went back to her.

"Why so grim?" Loki questioned, as if he did not already know.

Roska took in a deep breath and let it out. "You know why."

"Then, you will attempt the memory casting?" Loki prodded. By sending his forces, Odin assisted in his own demise. Loki nearly laughed aloud.

"I am considering our options."

"Very wise of you. Of course, I would not take too long considering. Now that they are aware we have the Fang, it will become harder to reach the All-Father. In fact, with the sizeable number of troops, not to mention Thor and the rest that he has deployed, it really would be in our best interest to act sooner while they are away rather than later."

Roska nodded faintly, so Loki pushed farther.

"And with the Rainbow Bridge restored, it will be much easier to battle whatever beings of chaos come. Our forces are gathered already." Loki kicked a broken shard of ice in his way, launching it across the surface of the lake with enthusiasm. "Also, you do owe me that favor for saving your life. Twice. Not that I am ungrateful for your leading me to the Fang, but if it will spur you to make the right choice..."

"You will not sway me," Roska stated. "My decision is my own."

"As the next king of Asgard, I feel it is my duty to speak on behalf of the Nine Realms."

Snorting, Roska threw him a look that cut through any pretenses. Loki met the look with an innocent smile, which doubled as her lips quivered on the verge of returning it. She turned aside.

"Just allow me a few moment's peace. Please?"

"Well. Since you asked so nicely." And because Loki was sure that if he had not reached another solution in months of thinking, Roska was not about to conjure up one in a few moments.

The gap consisted of a tunnel of ice, which after the last hours of picking through a labyrinth, meant Loki quickened his strides. Neither did he much care to be reminded of the last time he travelled through this tunnel. He could hear the phantom steps of the Frost Giants padding on the ground behind him as if threatening that they would never be forgotten.

Towards the end of the tunnel, the ice melted. Drops of water plinked down onto stone, then the last icy claws of Jotunheim gave way to pure grey rock.

The gap let out behind a waterfall. Loki did not bother diverting the light spray as they rounded its edge and came out onto a wide field. Thick, lush grass thrived in a carpet of dark emerald. Mountains fanned out on either side of them like welcoming arms and between them rose a city of gold shining in the light of a million stars with Hlidskialf the crown jewel at its center.

Unexpected emotion surged as Loki drank in the sight. He was home at last. Trapped in Thanos' clutches, he had not been sure if he would ever see this realm again. Loki had the urge to mirror the mountains and throw out his arms as a gentle breeze tossed about the sweet smell of the grass and beyond the unique scent of the city of Asgard, though it was too far away to be more than a sense memory.

Roska murmured, "There is somewhere I would like to go before I come to a decision. You may stay here if you wish."

Loki was tempted. It was not often within him to find satisfaction, but sitting in the grass, gazing upon his home, there lay contentment. At least for a few hours. In all probability, he would fall asleep due to being so bone-tired, and Loki thought for once that night terrors would not plague him. But a soft bed - _his_ bed in his realm, that would make for the soundest sleep.

"Lead on," Loki directed.

With a quick movement, Roska opened a rift, and they stepped through.

Roska brought them to a long hall. All of the surfaces were gilded gold, molded at sharp angles, and lit with large braziers roaring with flame despite the late hour. On the ceiling had been painted a representation of the world tree Yggdrasill, the force which connected the Nine Realms, done in bronze paints that glittered in the firelight. From beside its three roots, three streams of water bound with a casting flowed from the ceiling to the floor in a manner reminiscent of the swirling eddies of the Vergelmir, and they must be meant to represent the three wells. The tips of the branches and roots ended above towering statues atop pedestals hewn from stone taken from the mountains. Four statues had been arrayed along each of the side walls with one demanding the end of the hall to itself. On the other end, where Roska and Loki stood, a tapestry dominated the wall. The intricate shapes were mesmerizing, and with every tiny shift of one's body, they appeared to be moving. But within them always appeared three figures that somehow looked feminine.

Though he had never visited this hall, Loki had two guesses as to where he was. The rune of Fate woven into the tapestry between the shapes was the most obvious hint. Either Roska had taken them to her home - less likely, for he could not imagine her living in such grandeur - or this was the Temple of the Norn's Fateful.

Since Roska was staring up at the tapestry with a look of deep contemplation, Loki decided to take a stroll around to examine the statues of the original Children of Norn. The Losja of Alfheim, a Light Elf with three belts of summoning bells across their chest. The Eir of Midgard, a Midgardian male newly in manhood wearing no garments, his face the picture of serenity. The Murc of Mudspelheim, an elder female Fire Giant wielding two war hammers. The Haga of Niflheim, who appeared so familiar that Loki briefly wondered if it could be the same being he had met - although that would mean Roska truly was the Draugr. The Draugr of Asgard was the statue with his own space, an Aesir with a sword who would have been in the prime of his life if his face were not thin and bony as a corpse. The Frer of Jotunheim, a young Frost Giant male with a spear comprised entire of ice in his grasp. The Tizak of Hel, a hel-beast formed by a mass of claws, teeth, and swirling smoke. The Charith of Svartalfaheim, a female Dark Elf child with magic ringing her hands and an unsettling, malicious grin. And lastly, the Eya of Vanaheim, an androgynous Vanir in flowing robes with a book tucked under one arm.

Loki knew by the end of his stroll that this was the temple. Worshippers had left out offerings of food, gold, and trinkets at the feet of the statues. The tributes did not amount to much as the Norn's Fateful were but a small following, but each statue had some wealth before it, with the most left between the feet of the Draugr.

Roska had not moved. Loki watched her to be sure she blinked before examining the tapestry. Done by a master's hand. Either someone had paid a steep amount for the tapestry or one of the master weavers in this city worshipped at the temple. Roska had spoken to him about her love of tapestries when she prattled about weaving before he directed them to a more stimulating subject. Her interest could have started here.

"This is an impressive tapestry," Loki complimented. He wished he could erase some of the dismissive comments he had made about the Children of Norn during their venture when he had been attempting to persuade her away from them. Playing on her faith was not then as useful a tactic as it was now. "I can see why someone would be drawn back here."

"Thank you. It took me many years to complete," Roska replied.

Loki glanced at her and back over the tapestry. When Roska said she enjoyed weaving, he had not pictured anything quite this good. But she did mention having a lot of idle time on her hands.

"There was another tapestry here before. It had gotten quite old, and the years had not been kind. I was going to mend it as the weaver tasked to do so was struggling, but the tapestry only had the rune of Fate upon it and it was not done very well and I thought..." Roska shrugged.

"It is fine work. Once I am king, we should speak about the tapestries in the throne room," Loki flattered, but he made note. The tapestries in the throne room were simply plain red, and he did mean to have them changed.

Roska made a sound that could have been assent or clearing her throat. She walked away to the other end of the hall. The discrepancy of size between her and the Draugr statue was rather comical, for it made her already tiny form appear smaller by comparison like a child playacting as their parent. Yet, Loki's mirth ebbed as he was reminded of looking up at statues of Odin and the others he had believed to be ancestors, the mighty kings of Asgard, and so badly wanting to be just like them.

Loki stepped beside her. Her head was tilted back to look into the formidable glare of the Draugr. She carried none of that assurance in her expression, twisting her bag of rune stones in her palm. Whatever answers Roska looked for, she had not found them here. And short of the Norns miraculously gracing her with their presence, Loki did not expect she would have the answers she sought, no matter how long she searched this hall.

"This is not truly the first Draugr, you know," Roska relayed.

Loki humored her. "No?"

"No. The first Draugr was killed in battle, but the wars raged for so long in those times that there was little chance to burn the bodies, so they laid out for days and days. The next Draugr, she faced a Choosing. The Aesir were losing hope, even the king. Their strength was failing. The Draugr was talented with illusions, not unlike yourself. She took on the appearance of his corpse, pretended that he had returned from Valhalla to save them all. It worked. The armies rallied, and Fate stayed its course."

Roska's face scrunched. Her eyes turned glassy. "Because of the Draugrs before me, because of the other Children, we won the wars against Chaos, and Fate has been the order of the Nine Realms ever since. But if I perform the memory casting, which I may not be powerful enough to complete, I will be calling every being of chaos to Asgard, and I am not certain we can stop them. And yet, if I do not, I am afraid that war will find us anyway and with an ailing king upon the throne." She shook her head. "Why would Fate leave such an important decision to a Choosing? Why will it not give me some other sign so that I know this is right? Why am I-?"

Roska looked sharply behind her, and seconds later a man entered flanked by two women. They wore loose-fitting robes of pure white with the rune of Fate stitched upon the back. They each went to a statue and murmured prayers as they pushed two-thirds of the offerings into the braziers and sorted the final third into two baskets, one for food and another for the gold and trinkets.

Loki held his response to Roska's worries in his mouth as the Norn's Fateful collected the offerings, refining the words, replacing one sentiment with a more effective one.

He and Roska parted as a priestess stopped before the Draugr statue and bowed. "Blessed are you, Draugr, for you know the true path, while we may only attempt to follow Fate's light. We are grateful that you shield us against the shadow of Chaos, and offer you but this small tribute. May the Norns watch us all."

The priestess pushed a third of the offerings into the brazier to the left of the statue and a third into the right. Loki was surprised the temple did not keep more for itself, but with the small number of followers, surely someone would notice if the priests and priestesses were growing fat on wealth.

With a final bow before the tapestry, the religious leaders left Roska and Loki alone again, though with the scent of roasting food and burning metal. Roksa had collected herself so that she no longer teetered on the verge of tears, and yet Loki thought that she looked defeated for not knowing "the true path." So he would remind her that she did know.

"You told me that a Choosing happens when Fate divides in too many directions, so a Child is selected to determine the new path, a new thread for the tapestry as it were. I would think Fate, being the all-powerful force it is, would select the Child most likely to take the path that keeps it in balance. And so Fate chose you. It gave you the knowledge, it showed you signs along the way, and now that you have everything, you need only take the final step."

There it was. A flicker of hope in Roska's eyes. Leaning towards him as would a prisoner being offered clemency, afraid of a trick that would throw them into a darker cell but desperate for freedom. She wanted him to be right.

"You don't believe that," Roska said. "You don't believe that I am the Draugr. You don't even believe in Fate."

"That is irrelevant. Fate chose you, not me." Loki moved closer. He cupped the side of Roska's face, brushing a thumb across the tense muscles in her cheek. "I told you I will rip Thanos apart and I will, as well as any other being that comes to these realms intent on their destruction. But I need you to make me king. Now. Before it is too late."

Loki kissed her gently. Her lips were hesitant against his. Roska had frozen the last time. He had thought he pushed her too far, but she had responded with a kiss of her own, hard and full of passion she pretended did not exist within her. Loki knew then that he could have her if he wanted. If he needed.

He pulled back just far enough to speak. "I need you."

Roska trembled beneath his hands. Conflict raged in battle across her features. "I should not be-"

Loki silenced her with another kiss, and felt her begin to give in. He had to take her doubt away, enough of it that she would perform the casting. He did need Roska. Oh, he would have the throne one way or another, but to have it within the day. Besides, he wanted to be the one to crush Thanos with the might of Asgard and the other realms, for which he had to be the king.

Roska's gaze was hazy when Loki allowed her a reprieve. "Children are not meant to-"

Loki captured her mouth again. He felt a brush of air around him and braced himself to be tossed across the hall, but Roska broke the kiss instead.

"You will not seduce me into making you king," Roska warned.

"I would not dream of it," Loki said. When Roska looked doubtful, he added, "Mostly."

"Then what would you call this?"

What would he call this? Loki glanced around and, struck with inspiration, gave her his most wicked grin. "Making an offering."

Roska gasped in surprise as Loki lifted her up and seated her upon the pedestal at the feet of the Draugr. He kissed her lips, her jaw, down to her neck. He meant to kiss her until she agreed.

"Loki, I know you will be a great king, but if-"

"Stop," Loki commanded. He bit her neck lightly and ran his tongue across the darkened patch of skin. "Say that again."

"What?"

"Say it again."

"I know you will be a great king, but-"

"Stop."

Well, if Roska was going to start speaking like that, perhaps he should do more than kiss her. Perhaps he should ravage her until that statement alone was all she could remember.

"Again." Loki traced his lips over her neck to the soft hollow at the base of her throat. He did have a fondness for soft skin.

"Why?" Roska asked.

Loki straightened. With her on the pedestal, he could look right into her eyes and see her genuine confusion. So he elaborated. "Because if you do not, I am going to make you beg for me before I give you what you want."

Roska stared at him in shock. But Loki read the tightening of her fingers and the catch of her breath. She had reacted in a not dissimilar manner when he had her pinned to the floor in that tiny, dirty cave. If the window of opportunity was longer for reaching Odin with most of his protectors away, Loki would have taken hours disassembling her will piece by pleasurable piece. Unfortunately, they did not have the time, but he had gotten lovers off quickly before and with Roska's one fumbling encounter with sex, she should not be difficult to satisfy.

"The invitation is still open," Loki purred. He kissed beside her ear. "Again."

A pause, a shuddering breath. Roska could refuse him. She was one of few people who had ever rejected his advances. But Roska wanted him beneath her posturing, Loki reassured himself. She wanted this.

Roska mumbled something incoherent.

"You will have to be louder than that," Loki demanded, nipping her earlobe in punishment.

Roska hesitated. In barely above a whisper, she said, "I know you will be a great king."

"Better."

Loki rewarded her with a kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips to plunder her mouth. He used magic to whisk away her breastplate so that he could trace along her sides to the dip above her waist. His fingers brushed the bare skin where her tunic ended. Roska flinched at the touch, so Loki stilled his hand, allowing her to acclimate to the feel, to trust him.

Slowly, Loki ran his hand upward. Across the smooth plane of her belly. Over the outline of her ribs, the one trait she shared with the statue above her, made prominent from meagre meals and near constant walking. To the swell of her breast. He made lazy circles with his fingertips, moving closer to the center with each pass until he closed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger in a light pinch. The shared breath between their mouths gusted as Roska inhaled sharply.

Loki went back to kissing her neck so that he could listen to the sounds she made, to learn what she enjoyed and because he liked to hear those he bedded. He had once taken a silent lover who abashedly admitted to him afterwards that his betrothed complained that he was much too loud, so he made an effort to be quiet. Such a waste. Loki had encouraged him to make any noise he wished. To his thorough satisfaction upon their second dalliance, anyone residing within that wing of Hlidskialf discovered exactly who was making his lover plead for release.

Roska was not so loud - which in this temple was for the best. It was enough that he had to remember to hold the invisibility casting while making himself visible to her, without having to hold a sound shield as well. Instead, she proved to be like a new instrument in his hands that took careful tuning before filling the air with its unique, erotic melody.

Each tweak and pull on her breasts made her breath shake, but closing his mouth around a nipple elected a gasp. Her left breast was more sensitive - at least by the time he turned his attentions to it - and the gasp, closer to a groan. Roska had a hand threaded through his hair and pulled herself closer against him. Now that she had decided to give into him, apparently Roska was no longer so shy about what she wanted. Loki obliged by swirling his tongue harshly around her nipple, and Roska moaned fully.

With a free hand, Loki undid her belt and breeches. He tried to fit in his hand beneath her smallclothes, but the breeches were too tight. He lifted her enough to push the garments around her knees, fingers raking over her ample ass, and setting her back down.

Loki pressed between her folds, already so wet with arousal. He rubbed his thumb over the sensitive nub between her legs. Roska made a delightful whimpering sound. He could have her undone in seconds.

Loki leaned back to survey his handiwork. Roska reclined against the left leg of the statue, her knot of braids cushioning her head from the hard stone. Her lips were swollen from kisses, her gaze barely focused. Her tunic bunched above her breasts which were spotted with small bruises from his teeth. Her knees were spread wide for him, exposing her glistening quim between a tangle of curls.

He had thought to finish her with his hands, but Loki found himself undeniably aroused. Roska looked so deliciously obscene. At this temple, she should be reminded of her duties above all else. But sitting at the very feet of the being she claimed to be with the Norns right over his shoulder if Roska looked, her sole focus rested on him.

Loki undid his breeches. "Say it."

Roska wetted her bottom lip, a gesture made sweeter because it was unconscious. "I know you will be a great king."

No hesitation. And Roska meant it, too. She had told him so before. Loki had debated whether it was flattery or something she had been told to say, but no. Roska believed he would be a great king. That was what she saw when she looked at him. The sentiment tugged at him, stimulating him further, causing him to crave the give of her body as he took her, making him feel desire so strong it was almost something more.

Ripping her breeches and smalls away with magic, Loki yanked her legs around him and plunged into her. Roska clutched below his shoulders and let out a cry. He thrust slowly against her tightened muscles, then faster, driven by her wet heat and her gratified gasps in his ear. His fingers worked between her legs, rubbing in tight circles until she came and then came again, the clenching sensation around his cock nearly spurring him to follow her over. He was too lost in the haze of his own need to try for a third climax.

Loki gripped Roska by the hips, pulling her against him with each thrust. Her legs wrapped tight around him, forcing him deep. Desire beckoned him towards the edge. So close. He was so close.

It was Roska in the end that was his undoing. She snared his gaze, her pupils wide enough that they had eclipsed the green, and in that fierce tone of hers made ragged by exertion, she whispered to him.

"You will be a great king."

Loki felt the blessed release of climax ripple through his core. He held Roska to him, panting. How long had it been since he last took a lover? It seemed an age. Loki basked in the feeling of bliss that followed physical release as he idly stroked patterns into the skin just above her hip where the skin was softest.

Gently, Loki maneuvered Roska backwards so that she was not perched right on the edge of the pedestal. He would have been congratulating himself on his success, had he not detected a reluctance on Roska's part when he gave her a final kiss. Her mind clearing of carnal need would force her to examine her choices. She needed to be handled with delicacy.

Roska inspected the floor and rubbed the back of her hand. "May I have the garments you took?"

Loki entertained a quip about liking her state of undress, and decided against it. "Of course." He called back her breastplate from his pocket dimension to where it belonged around her torso, but placed her breeches and smallclothes on the pedestal. "I suggest cleaning up first. Otherwise, you may be uncomfortable." Although with how foul their garments had become from travel, she was unlikely to notice much of a difference. Still, he was willing to spend this one last minute if it made Roska feel cared for.

Roska nodded. Loki took her arm so she would not lose balance when jumping down and waited while she took his advice. Still she did not meet his eyes.

"I need a moment alone. If you would wait outside?" Roska requested.

They should be headed to Hlidskialf at once. Their window of time had already been used up. Loki forced a patient smile. "As you like, but may I just say-"

"No, you may not. Anything you have to say to me is a lie."

Roska finally looked up, daring him to contradict her. Soothing protests presented themselves in an array for Loki to choose from. But he knew Roska as she knew him, and she would not believe any of them. This was why he never allowed anyone close. Because it gave them a way to see through his tricks.

Her flinty look softened, but Loki did not like her melancholy smile any better.

"I would expect nothing less. It is in your nature." Roska faced the statue. "Leave me."

Loki did as she requested. His footsteps echoed across the wide hall as he headed for the set of doors. He contemplated what he could have done differently, if his words and actions had been enough to convince her. He thought of her sad smile and if he felt any emotion besides frustration, it was most assuredly not shame.


	15. Fjórtán

The statue of the second Draugr glared across the hall. It must be her imagination, but Roska thought its skeletal mouth had curved deeper into a scowl. Its fingerbones strained around its sword in outrage directed, not at enemies on the battlefield, but the one who had dared to sully the title of Draugr. And at its very feet no less.

Roska sank to her knees, conjuring prayers to the Norns and Fate in order to explain herself. Taking Loki up on his offer had been an indulgence. Enjoyable, but ultimately meaningless. Its effects would last no longer than the ache between her legs or the bruises on her skin.

But Roska knew that the sex itself was not where she had erred, though she would not be in this predicament of forbidden emotions if she had refused Loki as before. Or would she be in the same predicament, just oblivious to its existence? At least this way she was forced to examine her motivations before deciding upon what to do next.

Why had she given in? The lure of bodily pleasure, certainly. Roska had discovered just how demanding her body could be in response to Loki's kisses. It reminded her of how she felt after drinking the Preemond's concoction, this insistent need for more, more, more.

Need was yet another reason. Loki saying he needed her. And after that plea, his command to repeat that he would be a great king. She had not understood why at first, but then she did. No curious head-tilt from him, no pondering expression. Instead, hunger. He finally believed that she meant those words, and to know someone believed in his deepest desire mattered to Loki. He needed to hear her, and Roska wanted to be needed by him.

Roska touched her forehead to the pedestal. She felt the phantom press of cool stone against her rear and, with each thrust, the bite of a sharp edge against the back of her thighs. Saw Loki bearing a wild look upon his face so unlike the usual sense of control he exuded. She had brought him to that state, and she could give him release. If their struggle in the labyrinth had revealed that she cared whether Loki was in pain, then this tryst revealed that she cared whether Loki found joy. She had spoken without prompting, and watching his hunger ebb in a wave of gratification brought her relief and pride and... and contentment. For a singular instant, Roska felt as if Fate had granted her a gift that she had always wanted but never dared ask for.

Always wanted. The constant lure to visit places on Asgard like the library or the artisan's district, not to observe the goings-on, but the people. How she could sit for hours listening to them. The occasional efforts she made to help someone with a task because changing small things was inconsequential to the course of Fate. Which meant that making those alterations should not have occurred to her.

Roska banged her head against the stone. Weakness had been a weed inside of her this whole time, and she had permitted it to multiply. She betrayed her station, and for what? A feeling? Some piece of herself that she was too feeble, too foolish to suppress? She was supposed to keep others at a distance. To exist alongside them, but on a parallel path. Untouched. Uncompromised.

Worse, holding Loki at a distance should not have been difficult. Roska knew his tricks. He might try to befriend her, but only as the means to an end. She was a weapon, a tool to be called upon when needed. He would never see her as anything more.

Roska had forgotten for that instant. She had not been thinking clearly. And then Loki tried to lie to her. So very like him to make the attempt, but stars above and below, did he truly think her to be so simple-minded? It should not have felt like a betrayal. Yet, in her anguished realization of her feelings, his attempt was a bootheel grinding down on an already splintered bone. At least he had the decency not to deny her accusation. At least she had earned that much from him. Not that his respect should matter to her.

Resting back on her knees, Roska examined a smear of blood on the pedestal. She touched her forehead. Her fingers came away stained with red. Absently, she wiped them on her breeches.

Now that she knew the truth of her feelings, she must decide whether or not to perform the memory casting. Before coming to the temple, Roska had been leaning reluctantly towards trying the casting, which was also what Loki wanted. Was that why she felt willing? How could she be certain that her decision was objective?

Roska huffed in frustration. What other option did she have? She would like there to be another way to place Loki on the throne. She had come to this temple because it was the place she thought Fate would leave her a sign. She turned, still on her knees, to face the hall, surveying the room from floor to ceiling. Nothing.

All right. The facts as she knew them for certain. Thanos had an interest in the Infinity Stones. Thanos had sent Loki along with an army to attack Midgard, which could have placed two of the stones in his possession, and also provided an opportunity to gauge the Nine Realms' response. Should he gain any number of the Infinity Stones, Fate in the Nine Realms would be at risk. In the event of a war, either Odin, Thor, or Loki could be on the throne. Such a strain on Odin was very likely to send him into the Odin-sleep, so to raise the chances of besting Thanos, either Thor or Loki should be king.

Roska bit her bottom lip. Loki. He was her choice before he gave her scraps of information about Thanos. He was her choice when the rune stones had fallen and revealed she was to decide upon Asgard's next king. He was her choice even before her Choosing. She had looked between Thor and Loki as they grew, weighed which boy would be the better king. When her Choosing came, she weighed which would keep Fate on its most stable path. When he told her of Thanos, she weighed him again. She had fretted and doubted, but she maintained her path. It could not all be due to sentiment or feeling a connection to him since their first meeting.

Unless that connection was the sign that she sought. Unless Fate had brought her to Loki on her very first day as Draugr for a reason.

Roska got up from the floor, eyeing the swirling beads of water representing Urd. Fate brought her Loki. Gave her time to watch him grow as she learned from consulting the runes and the Sight how to best keep it in balance. Loki was right. Fate had selected her for a reason, even though she was not strong enough to remain unattached. All Fate needed of her was to make the right choice. And she knew exactly what to do.

Loki was pacing out in the hallway when she threw open the doors. He took in the blood on her forehead and her wide smile, and his brow furrowed.

"I will attempt the casting," Roska informed him.

Whatever questions Loki had, he swallowed. "Excellent news."

"And I have a guess as to where the All-Father might be."

"Then, by all means, take us there." Loki braced his shoulders. The Fang of Fenrir appeared in his hand. "I am ready."

Roska opened a rift.

Darkness black as the farthest corners of the universe and silence as complete as they had experienced in the Filrar enveloped them. Roska activated the piece of beaconstone around her neck. It sent out a glow encompassing the area around them, but unable to penetrate the dark completely. A light splash echoed, the surface below Loki's feet rippling as he moved. He looked at her with curiosity.

"You may speak," Roska invited. "Odin is not here yet. I am going to bring him here."

"Where are we?" questioned Loki.

"Urd."

"Ah." Loki tapped the ground in front of him and watched the ripples roll outwards into the gloom. "The Well of Destiny. Or Fate, as you would call it. And home of the Norns."

Roska could hear his skepticism. "Are you about to point out that this well has never been found by anyone, despite Asgard being thoroughly searched for it?"

Loki grinned. "We have been together too long. You are beginning to read my thoughts."

Fortunately not. Roska did not think she would like being inside Loki's head. Too many dark places. And she would have to see in intimate detail exactly what he thought of her.

"The Children can always find this well. Urd must be defended above all else."

Urd allowed Fate to spread like water through the roots of Yggdrasill to its branches. Roska intended to spread the memory casting through the flow of Fate itself. The casting should, in theory, reach across the Nine Realms with greater ease than if she attempted to send the casting outwards with her own power. She was concerned about tying chaos magic so closely to the well, but the strength of Fate ran so deep here that she thought it would not be wholly corrupted. Rather, the changed memories would become a part of Fate.

Unimpressed, Loki asked, "Did your 'Norns' tell you this is Urd?"

Roska rested a hand on her hip. "Are you stalling because you are nervous about killing the All-Father?"

Loki's grin dropped. "No."

"All right. Then, this is the plan. I believe Odin will be waiting in his solar," Roska confided. The king's solar being their designated meeting place, it made sense that Odin would wait there to speak with her. He would want to find out why the Draugr had turned on him. But to go would be a trap. He was likely to have new wards as well as casters and guards both inside and out. "I am going to create two rifts. The first will be about the size of the solar's floor and will lead out into the air beside Hlidskialf. Which should throw off any castings meant to track the destination of rifts. The second will be opened below where the first leads out. This one will bring Odin here. Urd is hidden from anyone who tries to search for it by sight alone, so no one can find us that way. My concern is any tracking castings that Odin has on his person. I need you to create a shield. It will have to be the size of the solar at first, but once Odin arrives you can shrink it down to encompass just him."

Loki rubbed the toe of his boot against the surface of Urd. "I do not - That is..."

"It will be a strain, but you can do it," Roska assured him. "I would create the shield myself, but I need to conserve my strength as much as possible."

Either she had given him confidence or Loki made the effort to appear so as he nodded.

Gradually, Loki built the shield, twining strands of magic together to block the effects of the many kinds of tracking castings. Roska summoned a miniscule amount of dark matter from the Dark Dimension to bolster the power of the shield. Loki broke out in a sweat when he took hold of the dark matter from her, but he succeeded in merging it into the shield under her direction.

When the shield was complete, Loki sat down. His face glowed white in the light of her beaconstone, glinting with sweat. His breathing came in uneven pants. Roska reached out with her consciousness to prod the shield. She could find no fault, but did discover that Loki had gone through the trouble of adding an invisibility shield as if they were not on Urd.

"Take the invisibility away," Roska instructed. "You are going to have difficulty holding this shield as it is."

"I can hold it long enough," Loki declared.

Roska sighed. She held up her hands. "Fine. There may be guards or casters who come through as well. Are you prepared for a fight?" As much as she tried to avoid killing people until Fate dictated it should be so, these deaths would be necessary.

Loki heaved himself to his feet. "Prepared enough."

With a silent prayer, Roska fixed the different points in her mind and opened the rifts. A second passed during which nothing came through.

Then, everything in the king's solar hit the surface of Urd at once. The table smashed, tipping on its side. Chair legs splintered. Stacked books went flying. A bowl spilled fruits that splattered and rolled. A water basin cracked, its water sinking into the surface. Five guards and two casters sprawled out, the rift having opened from a height for just such a purpose. And the All-Father fell, too.

Despite the strain on his strength, Loki was on the guards in an instant. He stabbed the Fang into any exposed skin. Two of the guards and one of the casters died before they could get their bearings. The remaining four he engaged in an intricate dance of blades and combat magic, which would not last long. The Fang cut through any magic the caster wielded and held against the swords with ease.

Roska focused on Odin, slamming a cage of lightning around him before making herself visible. The king stood with a slowness that betrayed his age, leaning heavily on the king's spear Gungnir. His expression was a placid calm. He greeted her with a nod.

"I knew Loki had a gilded tongue, but I did not expect this from the Draugr," Odin stated. "What did he promise you?"

"Nothing," replied Roska. Movement in the corner of her eye. A guard charged towards her. She forced him back towards Loki with a gust of air, and the Fang burst through his chest. "The decision was made before we ever spoke."

"And what is that decision?"

"Loki is to be king of Asgard."

"That is Fate's will?"

"I believe it is. Because this is my Choosing, and it is my will that he takes the throne."

Odin regarded her, a faint strain of emotion threatening his calm. "What is to become of my son?"

" _I_ will be your son." Loki strode forwards with his head high. His armor shone, free of blood and grime. An effort to look his best for his father. "Your eldest son. Thor will bow at my feet."

Odin's anger made the lines on his face more pronounced. "Do you realize the gravity of your crimes? Wherever you go there is war, ruin, and death."

"What happened on Midgard was done largely under the influence of Thanos," Roska argued. "And Loki will stand against the mad titan. As king."

"So he did make you a promise." Odin gave Loki a disgusted look. "All of this because you desire the throne."

Loki hissed, "It is my birthright."

"Your birthright was to die!" Odin shouted, and Loki flinched back. "As a child. Cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me."

The lightning cage crackled with a burst of energy released in indignation as Roska curled her hands into fists. "No. This _is_ his birthright. Fate dictated that you take Loki in. I remember. I was there. You told him time and time again as he grew that he was born to be a king. And now you try to take that away from him? I will not allow it." The cage constricted, Odin wincing in pain. Finally, Roska felt free to speak the opinion she had held back for centuries so as not to interfere. "You are a poor excuse for a guardian." She spat at his feet. "Loki will be a great king despite you."

Roska let go of the lightning cage and sent air rushing towards Odin. He was prepared however, cutting through the gust with Gungnir. He spun it towards Roska. A blast of energy burst from the tip. Roska leapt aside. The blast would have clipped her shoulder, but her combat shield amulet activated, taking the brunt of the force. She needed to be faster. A direct hit from Gungnir could shatter the amulet.

Loki lunged towards Odin, and the Fang met Gungnir with a clang. A dagger appearing in his other hand, Loki swiped beneath the spear, but Odin blocked him again. Loki opened a rift directly behind Odin. Somehow, Odin anticipated him and swung around surprisingly fast. In a battle for his life, the All-Father had found enough energy to fight back. Such strength would not last long. Regrettably, neither could Loki. He had, Roska hoped, shrunk the tracking shield, but having poured so much of himself into it, he struggled in a battle which he should have won by endurance.

Roska and Loki darted around Odin. She searched for a way to take the All-Father off his guard and create an opening for Loki without expending too much energy. If only she had not promised Loki could kill the All-Father. Roska growled under her breath. She was not used to such intimate combat, especially in which her quarry needed to survive long enough for another to take them down.

Oh. Roska shoved at the surface of Urd beneath Odin. He began to sink, letting loose a bellow. Loki yanked Gungnir out of his hands. With the All-Father now weaponless, Roska broke off her casting. Odin bobbed to the surface, and immediately toppled. From his feet all the way to his knees was twisted and smoking.

Odin gazed up at Loki. "Is this truly what you want? To kill me?"

Loki regarded him coldly. "I am merely returning the favor. You tossed me from the bridge."

"I did no such thing. You let go."

"Do you think you can lie to me? Again?" Loki snorted. He glanced at Roska with a look that bespoke of his disdain for the All-Father's attempt to save himself, but Roska shook her head slightly. She would not pretend his fall had been anything less than suicide, even if it made killing Odin easier for him.

Roska murmured, "A memory casting."

Loki's eyebrows knit. Roska knew he did not want to believe her, but could not find a reason for her to speak false. To have such a revelation must be difficult. She would have spoken to him about it previously after witnessing his dreams, if she had not been so reluctant to stand up to his anger then. Roska quieted the voice telling her to push Loki onwards, and let him think it over.

His expression pinched suddenly, and Loki rounded on Odin. "Well, if I did so, it was because of you," he snarled.

The All-Father did nothing to defend himself as Loki stood over him, did not hold up a hand or plead for his life. Hatred contorted Loki's face as he raised the Fang high. He held it there. For a moment. Two. The Fang trembled. Loki gritted his teeth, and the hatred on his face flickered. He shifted his grip on the Fang as if that would bolster his resolve, but he did not drive the Fang downwards.

He could not do it, Roska decided. Loki could not kill the man who raised him, the king he had aspired for so long to be. Roska brushed her right hand against Loki's back and held out her left. He did not move at once, but slowly, lowering the Fang. He placed it in her outstretched hand.

"You do not have to watch," Roska murmured.

Loki swallowed. "Yes, I do."

So as not to prolong his agony, Roska faced Odin. He shuffled back on his elbows when she crouched down. He must have known Loki would be incapable of killing him. Not so with her. Magic pressed against her in a burning shield, but she swung the Fang in an arc. The edge cut through the casting. Roska gripped Odin's shoulder and plunged the Fang through his armor and into his chest.

Odin gasped as blood bubbled over his lips. He grabbed her arm to no avail. His body was attempting to go into the Odin-sleep, but the Fang would not permit it. He sank back against Urd as the struggle played out.

Roska let go of the Fang. She needed to start the casting before the Fang killed him. Rising to her feet, she pivoted to Loki, who remained fixated on the All-Father. He clutched Gungnir as a clasp needed to hold back his emotions. Roska felt a swell of tenderness at his pain. It was good she had decided on this conclusion for their journey. Because she would never feel this way beyond today, as it should be.

"It is time for you to go," Roska told him. "I will take the shield." She reached out for his shield casting, experiencing a pull as Loki instinctively fought her before yielding control. She extracted the invisibility to leave in his hold.

"Where would I be going?" Loki inquired.

"Not far outside of Hlidskialf. You may go where you wish from there, but you need to leave now because you will not be able to get out of Urd without me."

Roska pictured an alleyway near the palace steps and created a rift.

Loki did not exit through it. "How will you exclude me from the memory casting if I am not here beside you?"

"I cannot exclude you from this casting," Roska huffed. She had thought that was obvious. Furthermore, she presumed Loki would be happier believing in a life as the elder heir. "This is no simple illusion or small piece of combat magic. This casting, if I manage it correctly, will blanket the entirety of the Nine Realms. Do not attempt to block it either, unless you wish to meet your death. Now go."

Unbelievably, Loki stayed put. "Then open a rift to the infirmary first. I can bring you healing stones, a soul forge, a healer. Whatever you need."

"I am not going to survive this casting!" Roska exclaimed. She pushed him impatiently towards the rift. "I cannot. If I succeed, the next Draugr will be there to assist you as the new king." Fate would not allow otherwise when threatened by the beings of chaos beckoned forth by the magic she intended to invoke.

"But what if...?"

"You will get no more from me than this casting. Go."

Roska forced Loki through the rift with a hard shove. She looked at him, her constant companion for months that felt so much longer. "Be the great king I see in you."

Roska sealed the rift, her attention already on the memory casting. She laid down on Urd. It was a matter of time before she would collapse anyway. No need to waste strength standing. She moved the shield to the back of her mind. Next, she used the dagger from her belt to cut open her palms. Then, she started to create the memory casting above Urd's surface.

No energy went untapped, light or dark. Roska fed off the energy flowing from Odin. She drained every one of her amulets, except that of Fate. Light from the threaded beaconstone went out. In the cocoon of darkness, Roska intertwined energy and blood and dark matter into an intricate tapestry of chaos magic. Her skin tingled, her body turning sickly hot. The pain was not as bad as in the ice labyrinth, not yet.

As she wove the casting, Roska held two thoughts in her mind. _Odin has died a natural death. Loki is the rightful king._ She forced the thoughts to meld with the casting where they became templates for memory, to be recreated by the individual minds of every intelligent being in the Nine Realms.

The energy around her spiked so quickly and powerfully that Roska dropped the tracking shield in an effort to capture it, though that was her plan all along. The All-Father was dead. Any castings on him likely shattered and fed into the surge. Roska grappled with the sheer amount of energy. Her body burned as if she had bathed in oil and set herself afire. Wet blood scarcely broke the surface of her skin before it was lifting into the casting.

Roska shook, choking on each breath. White spots blinked in and out of her vision. She thought the memory casting was finished. She could not check her work. Not when she barely had a grip on the casting with the hardest part yet to come.

Roska took a deep breath and pushed the casting down. Urd resisted. She pushed harder, fighting through the pain. Urd did not give way. She felt it like a wall pressing back up against her, but Roska refused to be moved. Wetness streamed along her face, not blood, but tears. She would not fail. Fate depended upon her doing this. Loki had to be the one fighting Thanos. And if she did not spread the casting, he could be executed for treason.

With a scream of effort, Roska rammed the casting downwards. She had not imagined her pain could increase, but it did. No longer fire, the pain was the tips of a thousand swords digging into her mind and body, their wielders cruelly twisting the blades so each moment was a renewed torture.

Roska sobbed. She wanted to let go. It hurt too much. The spots in her eyes glowed brighter. Three spots, opaque but brilliant. Constantly shifting. When understanding dawned, she wept for more than pain. The Norns had come. Their faces flickered, there one moment, then gone. What were they thinking about her? Did they approve?

"I am sorry," Roska cried. "I know I betrayed you and Fate and the other Children." The casting and Urd pressed opposite each other, and Roska screamed as she held the casting in place. She gasped in several breaths. "I know I am not supposed to care for anyone. But if I die, I will have done my duty as Draugr and my feelings cannot interfere any longer."

Roska searched the Norns for a sign of confirmation. They were impassive, as they should be. Those were the rules; they could not interfere. Yet, she felt utterly desperate. She needed to know.

"Please. Please tell me I made the right choice," Roska whimpered. "I will not do anything differently. I just need to know. Please."

The Norns hovered silently.

Roska blinked at the hot tears clouding her vision. They were not going to tell her. She had to finish her Choosing as she had begun it, alone.

"All right. I will do this. I will make up for my transgressions," Roska wheezed, less to the Norns than herself. "For the good of Fate. I can do it. Odin has died a natural death. Loki is the rightful king. I am the Draugr. I can do it."

Roska _pushed_. She felt ripples as Urd moved below her. She was shrieking, the pitch echoing on endlessly in the darkness. Had to merge the memory casting with Urd. No other option. Just a little more effort. A slight increase in energy. Enough to break the surface.

Rolling onto her belly, Roska dragged her hand up to the amulet around her neck. The one bit of magic she needed, made powerful in the hands of the Norns. She tore the Fate amulet off. As the casting upon it broke, Roska forced the released energy into the surface and -

Sigyn did not understand what was happening. She knew only fear and pain far more terrible than she had ever experienced in her short life. Her entire world turned white. From within Sigyn felt an intense, wrenching tug like someone was pulling her insides out. She went limp, her final breath barely disturbing Urd.

The Draugr's Choosing had reached its end.


	16. Fimtán

A blank wall faced Loki. The golden hue appeared to be alight in comparison to the oppressive dark from which Roska had forced him. Physically, she should not have been able to shove him through the rift, but Loki had been preoccupied between seeing Odin dying on the ground and Roska's abrupt reveal that the rest of their plan was not to go as he expected.

Loki walked to the mouth of the alley in a daze as though saved from the maw of a massive beast whose teeth he had not known were around him. Despite the time of night, the street to Hlidskialf saw a moderate amount of guards and citizens coming and going. Loki watched them. Should Roska succeed, Loki wondered how he would see these people differently. Would the new memories change who he was at his core, or fit seamlessly into a narrative that altered as little as possible? What kind of person would he be if he had been raised outside of Thor's shadow? Happier. No knowledge of his being of Jotunar birth to haunt him. Believing that everyone respected him, not because he had duped them, but because he was the first born of Odin. Not knowing the truth of how the All-Father had died. He could be content.

Loki held the promise of a simpler existence in his mind, examining it like a beautiful work of art he had viewed several times with thoughts to purchase. At first glance, he wanted it desperately, but as he looked closer, he began to see the flaws and the reasons why he had decided against buying the piece in the first place. He needed to be conscious of the memory casting to prepare for the repercussions. Any dissent or whispers from those currently traveling outside of the Nine Realms would need to be dealt with. To be caught unawares, as with the revelation of his fall from the Rainbow Bridge, was not a circumstance in which he cared to be again. Besides, secretly gloating over those people who would have bowed for Thor but not him was such a satisfying concept. And if not for his place as the second son, he might not have been as driven in his learning to compete with Thor and hone his mind. He might not be as close to his mother.

Roska had been right, though; he could not block the casting. Loki felt on the verge of a collapse from creating the tracking shield, barely able to hold an invisibility casting now. But he had never been one to accept his fate when things did not go his way. If he could not stop his memories from being changed on Asgard, then he needed to be somewhere where the memory casting could not reach him. He had to get out of the Nine Realms. Fast.

Loki eyed a noblewoman coming from Hlidskialf on a gray mare at a stately pace and inspiration struck. The plan was nowhere near his best, but he could not dally over another. He made his way to the woman. As the mare was of a smaller breed, Loki was able to leap up behind the saddle. The horse nickered at the added weight, and the woman stiffened.

"Obey me and I will leave you with your life," Loki whispered into her ear, shoving the sharp tip of Gungnir against her back. "Tell your retinue that you just remembered you have a very, very pressing engagement." The noblewoman did as he asked. "Now, ride."

They raced through the streets. Loki gave the woman directions as quietly as possible over the thunderous stamp of the horses' hooves. Her guards galloped in front, calling for anyone about to move out of the way. The noblewoman was not an experienced rider, but with his occasional commandeering of the reins they made good time and Loki spotted his destination rising in the distance.

Not far from the flying docks, Loki shoved the woman off. He let her horse carry him a bit farther before leaping to the ground as the woman screamed behind him. He ran to the flying docks, passed guards who were preoccupied trying to get a look at the commotion, and sprinted across the dock. He needed a spacecraft that he could fly.

Loki chose a middling-size ship of the royal warfleet. He forced the doors open with magic, feeling his stomach roll at the drain. He staggered on board and raced for the controls, jamming the button to speak to the operators of the docks. Setting Gungnir aside, he changed appearance as a projection of him would appear on their board.

"This is General Okia of the royal guard. I need priority to leave the dock."

There was a pause. "We do not have orders from the palace."

Loki moved back from the controls. He strained for any remaining vestiges of energy and donned another illusion. He shifted into range of the projection.

"There was trouble on Jotunheim," he said as Thor. "The general and I need to take this craft at once, so either clear the way or we will make our own path."

Another pause. "Of course. Right away."

Loki let go of the illusion and leaned over to be sick. He searched the controls, finding the right place to touch so the spacecraft hummed to life. Too late, Loki thought he should have forced a pilot aboard. He did not have as much experience with spacecrafts as those crafts that traveled in-realm, and if anything went wrong, he would be incapable of making repairs. The royal spacecraft lifted as two patrolcrafts and a personal spacecraft moved to make room.

Into the sky, the spacecraft rose, and Loki increased the speed. It wobbled leaving Asgard's atmosphere. He had to find the proper controls to make a jump through the naturally occurring rifts that formed pathways throughout the universes. Loki squinted at the panels, levers, and buttons. He brushed a finger upward in a corner on the main panel, but that made the spacecraft spin precariously. He pushed the speed faster, still searching.

One of these controls had to be right. Weapons. Cloaking. Shield. Doors. Engine controls. He had seen a jump done once. What had the pilot pressed? There were two parts, Loki remembered. Nothing easily touched as an accidental jump could be disastrous. His eyes fell on a lever to the right of the panel.

Loki forced the lever forward and flicked another smaller lever attached to it. The spacecraft shuddered, the stars became a blur, and suddenly Loki was looking at Asgard from a distance. There. If only he knew how to navigate properly. He pushed the levers one more, bracing for an impact. Empty space and million stars. He shoved them further forwards. A realm. It looked like Svartalfaheim. He pushed, then quickly again as the spacecraft nearly collided with an asteroid. He made jumps in quick succession, watching the fuel go down until it was almost half empty. The rest he would need to get back to Asgard. He hoped he had gone far enough. Loki found the sleeping quarters and slept.

When he woke, Loki sat up. His body ached from being in a singular position for so long. He rubbed his face and looked down at the once-pristine sheets his filthy garments had sullied. He had vague memories of falling into bed, too exhausted to even take off his boots. Bathing was most definitely in order.

Loki reached for the summoning device, but stopped. There were no servants on the spacecraft. He had taken it alone.

Clarity shocked him awake faster than a bath of cold water. Loki searched through his memories. He knew about the memory casting. Had anything been altered? He was born on Jotunheim to King Laufey. Cast out. Taken in by Odin. He remembered growing up with Thor always as the superior son. He did not think his memories had changed. But how would he know? He had thought Odin tossed him from the Rainbow Bridge. At any rate, either he had successfully navigated his way out of the Nine Realms, the casting was not as of yet complete, or Roska had failed.

Loki paced the spacecraft, his strides becoming more like those of a trapped animal with each day. He found some food to eat and studied the stars and waited until he knew he must turn the spacecraft around. He must see if the Nine Realms had changed because he was almost certain that his mind remained unaffected.

Getting back took more work than running. Loki had not been paying attention to the exact amount of jumps in the beginning. He worried he would have to stop off somewhere and barter his way home, or else be trapped in the vast emptiness of space.

Luckily, his spacecraft left a rift close to Vanaheim. Loki piloted directly from there, watching the fuel gauge sink. He stopped with Asgard hovering below him. These could be his last moments of freedom for quite a while. He steered towards the flying docks and pressed the button to speak with the operators.

"This is Loki of Asgard. I wish to land my craft."

No direct reply. Instead, three spacecrafts rose to surround his, and Loki let them escort him downward. On the flying docks were assembled rows of guards. At the front, their hair gleaming a matching yellow, stood Thor and Frigga. Loki could not read their expressions. His skin felt cold as he remembered Odin's wheezing gasps and the blood dribbling onto his white beard. Had they come to lock him away? Or greet him? And could he face his adopted family no matter why they were there?

The spacecraft landed with a thump. Loki walked to the doors. He stood with them shut, fighting the instinct to turn and fly as fast as he could with whatever fuel he had left. He pressed his hand to a pad, and the doors opened.

Several of the guards had assembled at the base. Loki strode down the ramp, Gungnir clasped firmly at his side, but invisible. He was prepared to use it if he must. However, it would reflect badly upon him to have the king's spear should the casting not have worked.

Loki stopped at the base. The guards shifted, and he tilted Gungnir with readiness, energy swirling around him. The memory casting had failed, he accepted grimly. He would put up a fight, and seek the throne another way.

The hands, which Loki had perceived as reaching for him, pounded against chests as fists, and the guards knelt.

Disbelief? Astonishment? Joy? Triumph? There was no one word to encapsulate what Loki felt. His mouth stretched in a smile. Roska had done it. He was king of Asgard. He was king! Loki basked in their fealty. He was in his rightful place.

Thor and Frigga did not kneel as the guards behind him, but they inclined their heads and placed their right fists to their chests. To see that from Thor, Loki had to stifle a laugh of delight. With his mother, it was complicated. He wanted her to be proud of him as king, but he also knew he had killed the man she loved to take his place.

Frigga looked up at him. Her expression glowed and she embraced him. It was absurdly sentimental, but Loki finally had the sense that he was home.

"I know you wished to mourn alone," Frigga murmured to him. "But I am glad you have returned."

So that was where he was meant to have been. Spending the period of mourning for Odin's death away from Asgard. A fair excuse, but Loki did not like that Frigga believed he would have left her during such a time.

The Fang jutted out of Odin's chest, white bone stained red. She could never know.

"I am sorry," Loki said, and his voice cracked.

Frigga leaned away. "You did what you had to."

Loki nodded. He was not certain how to address Thor, but Thor grabbed him in a crushing hug.

"Brother," Thor greeted. "It is good to have you home."

Loki had not pictured being greeted so warmly after Midgard. He was less certain of how to treat Thor than Frigga. But he would figure it out. In the coming weeks, there would be missteps, but hopefully any small errors could be attributed to absentmindedness in the flurry of activity that was to follow a new king.

As predicted, Loki did not have a moment to himself after stepping onto the deck. He did find time on the first day to ask Heimdall to look for Roska and, when the guardian could not see her, ask the mastertracker Utur to locate potential matches for the dark place he and Roska had been. But with the period of mourning over, he was too busy to search further, and Roska drifted from his mind. He needed to take the throne in a sanctioned capacity. There were ceremonies and feasts to attend, meetings and councils to sit in upon, officials and visiting dignitaries that required his time.

At last, Loki admitted to himself that he needed a brief respite. He was exhausted. Every person he encountered irked him and he could hardly think. He delegated the tasks that required his immediate attention and retreated to his chambers.

Loki surveyed his rooms. That his bed called to him the loudest was a testament to his weariness. However, he wanted to do something more than sleep, where night terrors might still creep up on him. There was no telling when he would have a chance at solitude again. Loki contemplated luxuriating in a hot bath with a book. He ran his fingers along the spines of his favorites, eventually pulling _A Perspective on the Eloquence of Design_ off of its shelf. Once the text was in his hand, Loki decided that, instead of a bath, he would very much like to sit in the guest chambers of the High Spire where he used to sneak off to when he wished to be alone.

His guards did not ask questions, but Loki could sense their puzzlement when he announced that he was going to the High Spire unaccompanied. He had debated slipping away unseen - the guest chambers remained a private space, offering relief in their mere existence - but as king, he should always be reachable.

The corridors of Hlidskialf bustled with activity at its heart. Loki travelled through them invisible so as not to be caught up in any task. Although, he _was_ tempted to risk it to see everyone bow their head and touch their fists to their chests as he passed. He did not imagine the sight would ever get old.

As he approached the High Spire, Loki discovered that the corridors were not emptying as much as expected. Of course, due to the regime change there were more guests than had visited in... as far back as he could remember, really. It had not occurred to him that his guest chambers might be occupied. He could arrange to have them cleared, but not without taking time he did not wish to spare. Not to mention, certain occupants might require personal apologies for the upset.

The doors to his particular guest chambers were closed. Not unusual. Loki knocked lightly upon them. When no one answered, he glanced back at the winding staircase. Empty for the moment. He opened the doors. No trunks. No sign of a fire being recently lit. Small wash basin unfilled. Excellent.

Loki shut the doors behind him. Someone had moved the chair. He dragged it in front of the window and sank into the plush cushions. He stretched his legs, letting out a content sigh. The pages of his book rustled as he flipped through them to the first line of text. Loki gripped an armrest for leverage to settle himself into a comfortable position.

_I decided to try sitting on an armrest once I was certain you never used them._

He had forgotten about that conversation. Loki rubbed the heavy armrest. Roska would have fit perfectly atop it. He rocked from side to side, and the chair did not shift much. Her slight weight would not cause a noticeable imbalance as they read together. He lifted his hand, almost expecting to touch her. No word had come back about the search for "Urd." He should ask for a report.

Loki attempted to return to his book. He made it less than half a page before his gaze lifted to the armrests. The constant duties of a new king meant that he had barely thought of Roska. He spared her only three moments. The first when he was curled up in bed, wondering why he felt that something was wrong, and right before falling asleep realized he could not hear Roska's breathing beside him. The second when, during the Ceremony of Ascension, he looked at his mother and Thor standing in a place of honor on the steps below him and thought that Roska deserved to be there as well. The third when he spoke to his assembled generals - lead by Thor - about their readiness to defend against an attack from Thanos, or possibly take the fight to him. He wished Roska could be present so that he could add her power to their forces.

Loki flipped a page. Well, what use was there in thinking of her? Roska had said herself that she would not survive the casting. She was dead, her body moldering in a dark cave somewhere. To decompose in such a manner meant that her spirit could not reach Valhalla, but if Roska wanted her body burned, she should have told him how to find her corpse.

Yet, Loki felt the heavy burden of guilt settle on his shoulders like a yolk. He tried to ignore the feeling, but it was stubbornly persistent. Hissing through his teeth, Loki slammed the book shut. He left the guest chambers and stopped the first guard he came across.

"Find Utur Tolson and tell him I want a full report. He'll know what I mean," Loki snapped. "And have the head of archives sent to my chambers immediately."

The head of the archives - a woman named Njora who had replaced her elderly superior - arrived shortly, and Loki tasked her with finding all she could about Sigyn Bathurdottir.

Loki expected a written report from Utur, but he arrived in person within the day. He had not discovered anything about a place matching Loki's description that might be mistaken for Urd or anyone claiming to be the Norns or anyone who might be Roska.

"Honestly, when you did not respond to my initial report, myself and the Tracker's Den stopped looking too hard," Utur relayed. "You seemed distracted when you asked and, well, it seemed like it might not be that important."

Loki smashed his goblet on the desk where he had been drafting a letter to the queen of Vanaheim. "Anything your king commands should be treated with the utmost importance. You and your den had best find something of use within the fortnight or I will strip you of your titles."

Utur turned gray and backed out of the room, apologizing.

Loki rubbed his forehead. The extent of his outrage surprised him or else he would have taken the tactful approach.

Anger was to become a companion of guilt. Loki avoided them for most of his days, but they chaffed in reminder when he least expected. So he searched for the key to rid himself of the chains. When Utur returned to admit defeat in shaking tones, Loki did not strip him of his titles, but rather his rank as mastertracker. He asked that Utur promote from within the Tracker's Den with the suggestion that results could earn back his rank. In addition, he put Utur in touch with a well-regarded spy who might hear whispers Utur did not. Loki also penned several discrete letters to some of the other realms with inquiries as to any knowledge of the Children of Norn.

Njora came to him after a feast to entertain the nobles of Alfheim. Loki never drank much at feasts, preferring to keep a clear head, but had eaten a fair amount and was impatient for bed. This was not helped by spending the evening seated beside two Light Elf choice-mates.

"You found her?" Loki inquired.

"Yes, my lord." A lead at last. Njora unraveled a scroll. "Sigyn, daughter of Bathur Stirjsson. Born in the twenty-three thousandth one-hundred and fifty-sixth year of Yggdrasill."

Which would put Roska at approximately two-hundred and thirty years older than him. The age seemed right. "What else can you tell me?"

"She perished in a fire in the year twenty-three thousand four-hundred and seventy-seven. That same fire claimed her parents, as well as two siblings, Frigya and an infant also named Bathur."

Loki waited, but Njora did not offer up any further information. "Is that all?"

"We only had records because of the fire. Her family resided in -" Njora wrinkled her nose as if her scroll exuded an odor most foul. "- the Outskirts."

"I see," Loki said.

The Outskirts was a district on the edge of the city where resided those Aesir whose ancestors had mixed with races of undesirable blood. While not dirty on the surface as some Midgardian city like New York, the Outskirts' people were poor. The exterior of their buildings only gleamed the same gold as the rest because of the higher classes, who abhorred the idea of any part of Asgard looking less than beautiful. Inside, the people lived hand-to-mouth as they worked trades such as farming, waste disposal, and servitude.

Whoever had taken Roska probably deemed their abduction a kindness. Loki could not say he disagreed. It made him wonder if the fire was intentionally set. No one important would think to investigate deaths in the Outskirts.

"I sent one of the pages to make some inquiries into the family. Dwarven blood, it seems. A grandfather." Njora sounded like she was choking on distaste, and Loki grit his teeth as anger flared.

_They do not see you as a monster._

"Thank you, Njora," Loki dismissed. "Please have the scroll available on the morrow along with any further notes. I will have someone pick them up."

Loki sent word to Utur's trackers, asking that a few concentrate their search on this family as they may be connected. Later, the gift of an ornate scrying glass from the departing Light Elves gave Loki an idea. Sometimes scryers could find the dead as well as the living. He summoned a scryer from the Caster's Table. To locate someone required an object of theirs. The best Loki had was the pack of assorted travel items Roska had given to him. The scryer did not look for long before saying that he could not feel even the faintest connection. Loki called upon another well-respected scryer, but she told him the same.

"Is this person deceased?" she asked. Loki nodded. "Connecting with the dead is difficult, especially if their spirit is not in Valhalla. Hel is much harder to see."

Loki stared out the window after she left, imagining Roska's spirit in the desolate plains of Hel or writhing about in Naashrand. He shook his head. She did this to herself, he thought for the thousandth time. He had no reason to feel any guilt.

Yet, guilt shadowed him into the night. When he could stand no more, Loki jumped out of bed. He swept a cloak around his shoulders and hurried unseen into the treasury. He filled a casket with fistful after fistful of precious stones and metals in a blind rage. From Hlidskialf, he rode to the Temple of the Norn's Fateful. There he dumped the offering at the feet of the Draugr statue.

"Will you stop plaguing me now?!" Loki shouted at it. In the echoes of his voice bouncing around the vast hall, he heard her whisper.

_You will be a great king._

Loki smashed his hand down on the pedestal, scattering his offering. Jewels tumbled onto the floor. Coins went everywhere, rolling, bouncing, clanging into the braziers.

"I am trying."

Loki breathed deep. What was he doing? Rushing out of the palace in the dead of night to yell at a ghost. It was madness. He should be in bed. He had to judge petitioners tomorrow, an all-day affair that was sure to be taxing. This nonsensical obsession would fade in time. Roska had made her decision and, regardless of whether he had affected that decision or not, there were no further actions left to him. If his best trackers, scryers, and Heimdall were unable to find Roska, then not even the true Norns could -

Loki whirled around to face Roska's tapestry. From this angle, the Norns appeared close to bipedal forms with arms that pointed towards the entranceway.

For such a small temple, the residence chambers proved difficult to find. Loki banged on the doors in a thunderous mood.

A priestess he recognized answered his knock. She did not look pleased either. "Who calls so late? I hope the matter is urgent."

Loki pulled back the hood of his cloak.

The priestess' jaw dropped. "My lord." She curtsied low, fist touched to her chest. "Forgive me. If I had known-"

"Yes, yes," Loki interrupted. "I trust I can count on your discretion." 

"Of course."

"I need to speak with the Norns."

The priestess blinked at him. "Speak with the... There is a ritual, of course, but it has not been performed in several thousand years. It is very dangerous."

Naturally. If reaching the Norns were simple, any fool could pester them. As long as the price was not a steep personal cost, Loki was willing to pay for some peace of mind.

"Dangerous how?" he asked.

"Someone must play host to the Norns," the priestess explained. "The host body must be strong enough to withstand such power, and the Norns, they do not like being confined. Their struggling makes for an even greater burden."

"Is there another manner in which they do prefer to be contacted?" Loki anticipated not, but if there existed a solution that the Norns found agreeable, they may be more inclined to answer his questions.

"No, my lord."

"So the ritual is our only option. Tell me of it."

"At least two persons are needed. The host must submerse themselves in waters blessed with the Rite of the Three Wells. They enact the summoning ritual to call the Norns into their body. Should they be powerful enough, the host may hold the Norns while the other participant speaks with them."

"Does the host remember the conversation?"

"No. They fight a personal battle as the Norns plunge them into a world of their worst fears so that the host might lose their grip."

Loki nodded. No chance that the memory casting would be discovered. "Then, I have need of a volunteer."

The priestess glanced over her shoulder. "My lord, perhaps this should be discussed-"

"That was not a request," Loki snarled. He gentled his voice. "And I would be very thankful to the Norn's Fateful for your assistance. I think you will find that my gratitude can be generous." Another offering and a place for the priests and priestesses at the next feast was a small enough price.

Wringing her hands, the priestess nevertheless asked that he wait and disappeared into the residence. Loki rested against the doorframe until another priestess greeted him. She looked like one who would be more at home on a battlefield than a temple. Loki hoped that meant she was strong enough to hold the Norns.

A couple of the others made to join them, but Loki turned the onlookers away. The host priestess led him through several corridors and a locked door. She lit the wall sconces, the flames throwing light on a room whose only outstanding feature was a dark pool hewn into the stone floor.

The host priestess indicated that he could stand where he wished. Loki circled the edge of the pool so as to be face-to-face with her while the host priestess pulled off her white robes and walked, naked, up to her waist in the water. She chanted in the language of the runes, each sound crackling impossibly on an Aesir's tongue. All-Speak could not translate the language, but Loki recognized a few of the words from his studies: "self," "three," and "open." The host priestess inhaled and submerged herself completely. Loki leaned over the edge, but could not make her out in the dark water.

Eventually, Loki began to wonder if she had drowned. No one could survive without air for so long. He surveyed the water, picturing a corpse bobbing to the surface at any moment. Would the Norn's Fateful supply another host or would he have to haggle for the ritual and find a second volunteer elsewhere?

He was considering potential candidates when the host priestess burst so violently from the water that he stumbled back. The host priestess' eyes glowed white. Each breath sounded like the growl of a wild beast. She rolled her shoulders, making them move in ways her bones should not.

"Son of Laufey," the Norns greeted, three voices distorting the host priestess' own.

Loki forced a smile. "I apologize for trapping you like this, but your direct residence is notoriously difficult to locate."

The Norns growled, their host body thrashing once.

"I am looking for someone," Loki informed them.

"We know who it is you seek."

"Well, then, if you could tell me where she is, I am sure I can find a way to end this unpleasantness now."

The Norns ran their host's tongue across her lips, tasting the rivulets of water streaming from her hair, and did not speak.

Was it anger over their summons that kept them quiet? Loki changed tact. "Somewhere in the Nine Realms are pretenders claiming that they are the Norns. If I had the location of their 'Urd,' I could expose them as false."

The Norns twisted, hissed. "There are no pretenders."

Loki felt a jolt run through him, as if the Norns had dragged him into the water. "What?"

"You were blind. You did not wish to see the truth. You presume everyone else is a fool."

Not possible. Yet, it was well known that the Norns could not speak falsities. They could only tell the truth of what was, what is, and what would come to be.

Loki spoke slowly. "Are you saying Roska _was_ the Draugr?"

The Norns regarded him, mouth stretching into a cruel smile.

Roska had been the Draugr. He regarded her with disdain for not questioning the Norns. He attempted to sway her faith. He considered what a waste her life must be, apart from choosing to help him. But Roska had told him the truth. To think, he travelled with the Draugr for months! He could have been coaxing her out of hiding. For the Nine Realms to hear that the Draugr vouched for him as king, that meant a great deal. True, Roska did not look particularly impressive and her social manners needed coaching, but she had believed in him enough to create a world in which he ruled, leaving him to the care of the next Draugr.

Loki cocked his head. Before pushing him out of Urd, Roska had told him that the next Draugr would come to meet him. He remembered a conversation in which she said that her predecessor forewarned Odin of her imminent arrival. The king of Asgard and the Draugr working together. But no one had come to him. Even with the threat of chaos, which seemed all the more real in light of his revelation. Which meant...

"Is Roska still alive?" Loki asked.

Nearly two months had gone by. If by whatever miracle Roska still lived, why would she not make herself known to him? Surely, she desired to take part in fighting Thanos. As Dragur, she would consider it her duty, and as Roska, she would not abandon him. The casting must have drained her strength. Perhaps she was still recovering. Or dying. Her body splayed out on the surface of Urd in the impenetrable dark. Unconscious? In pain? Barely awake, but unable to summon enough energy to form a rift.

Loki felt an unexpectedly sharp lurch in his chest. "How can I get to Urd?"

The Norns growled, "No one may enter unless we, or our Children, grant them passage."

"Take me there," Loki commanded.

"We will not."

"Take me to her or I will allow chaos free reign over the Nine Realms."

"Her fate is her own." The Norns let out a scream of delight. Their host's body bent backwards, her spine cracking. "You shall never see us again, Son of Laufey."

The white glow left the host priestess' eyes, and she collapsed into the water.

"No. No!" Loki splashed into the pool. He grabbed the host priestess, shaking her. "Hold on, damn you. I am not finished with them."

The host priestess swung limply from side to side. Loki tossed her onto the edge of the pool with an enraged hiss. He bolted back to the corridor, where several of the priests and priestesses were waiting.

"I need another host," Loki demanded.

The priests and priestesses looked at each other. "Only Haif received any training in being a host," one of the priests replied.

Loki wanted to slay them all where they stood for being so utterly incompetent. "Then get her to a healer, and send word the moment she is well enough to try again."

He flew from the Norn's Temple on his horse as though his mount could outpace the torrent of feelings pulling at him. The burden of guilt and anger tore into him, exposing this fathomless something that had been lurking beneath the harder emotions. Loki did not want to face it. He wanted to eliminate it.

Loki stormed past guards, daring them to follow him with their lingering looks. He flung open the doors to his chambers. And promptly stopped short at seeing Frigga rise from a chair by the fireplace.

"Mother," said Loki, worried as to what her presence could mean. "Should you not be abed at this hour? Has something happened?"

"I could ask you the same," Frigga pointed out.

She came to check on him. Loki fit on a mask of neutrality. "I had an urgent matter to attend to."

"As did I. My son has seemed preoccupied as of late."

"A king is always preoccupied."

"Enough to pillage the treasury and ride off into the night as if a legion of hel-beasts were after him?"

"Spying on me, Mother? That is considered treason, you know."

Frigga gave him one of her looks. This one in particular said that it did not matter how old he was, she would give him a sharp clap on the back of his head if he made another smart comment.

Loki sighed. "It is nothing you need concern yourself with."

Frigga crossed the room and took his hands. "I am always concerned for my son."

A lump formed in Loki's throat. He had never felt less deserving of his mother's affections. He was deceiving her through the memory casting. He watched her husband die and replaced her true-born son on the throne.

"Why don't you change out of those wet garments, and then you can tell me what is troubling you," Frigga suggested gently.

If that was her desire, how could he refuse her? Loki gestured to the chair where she had been seated before. While Frigga reclaimed her seat, Loki went into his bedchamber to don a night-robe. He returned to his solar and leaned against the mantel where the fire would warm him. There were so many details he needed to keep from Frigga that he took several minutes considering how to begin.

"There is a woman. Not like that," Loki added when Frigga nodded too agreeably. "Not for me, anyway. Her name is Roska. She came to me as an ally, offering assistance in a personal matter. Something I assumed I would have to fight for on my own. This matter required powerful magic, and she agreed to work the casting. I thought her dead from the strain. Now I have reason to believe otherwise. But she may be dying, and I know not how to reach her."

Loki looked into the fireplace to avoid his mother's gaze. "I should never have let her force me out. Or at the very least, I could have offered her thanks. I could have been kinder. She thought I only cared for her utility. That is one of the last things she said. That I would 'get no more' from her. She never knew that I grew to respect her in some ways."

Very few people had earned his respect. Loki knew Roska would have liked to hear it from him. She smiled so rarely.

"What is Roska like? Tell me about her," Frigga prompted.

Loki shrugged. "She is rather plain-looking," he confided. "Small in stature. Her garments are the most dreary-"

"Always so obsessed with appearances," Frigga chided, waving his words away. "Start again. Tell me about _her_."

Loki rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Can this not wait until morning?"

"No, it cannot."

Hel, save him from his mother's stubbornness. Loki tapped the mantel as he thought. "She is a powerful magic wielder. Intelligent, well-read. She enjoys weaving, tapestries in particular. Not very socially conscious. Has a habit of wandering away and then appearing nearly on top of you. She's stubborn." He leaned hard on the word, shooting Frigga a glance that merely made her smile lift. "With an occasional temper. She did not appreciate my attempts to, ah, change her mind." The memories of being knocked on his back should have been tinged with humiliation, but Loki regarded them fondly. He enjoyed cracking her calm exterior.

Frigga gestured for him to continue when he looked to her with an unspoken, _'Enough?'_

Loki grabbed for more. "She can keep still like no one I have ever known. She can sit and polish her armor for eons without ever seeming bored. She pretends not to need others, but does, deeply."

Each statement became a revelation, tumbling faster from his lips.

"She rubs the back of her hand when she is embarrassed, and stands on her toes to look taller when she is angry. She snores in her sleep. She throws herself into an embrace like it may never happen again. When you speak to her, she listens with her undivided attention."

The something he had been avoiding rose, billowed in his chest. Mourning. Loss.

"She is loyal. To her faith. And to me. She told me I was better than - than this thing that I am. She constantly tried to lift my burdens, and I would push her away. She saw my faults, and still she cared for me. She cared for me. And I..."

Loss he suppressed because to know loss meant he cared about Roska. Loki saw the confirmation in the dip of Frigga's head. She had known, but pushed him to figure it out on his own.

"And I don't know how to save her."

Frigga got up from the chair. Loki felt like a boy as she hugged him, and he buried his face into her hair, vision blurring. He held her tight.

"We will find a way," Frigga soothed.

But Loki was not so sure.


	17. Sekstán

She did not hurt, so she must be dead.

Roska did not move from her position sprawled out on her belly. She had done what she could. She might hear word somehow, eventually of whether or not the casting had been successful. If Loki sat on the throne of Asgard, then giving up everything, her life, her identity would have been worth it. Unless the Norns had known something they had not deigned to tell her. But whatever happened, her part was over.

But wait, she remembered her name. How was it she could remember? Roska opened her eyes. It was dark. As her body had not been burned, she must be on Hel. Was she in the Black Plains? She rubbed the back of her hand across her face and felt streaks of wetness come away. She wished to light her threaded beaconstone to see, but spirits could not use magic. They could feel, for how else would they experience the extremes of pain and twisted pleasure practiced on Hel? But they were unable to direct energies through their bodies. Not the least of all because that might enable them to escape.

As her eyes adjusted, Roska realized that she was not in complete blackness. She could see the outline of her right arm, a white glow emanating from beneath it. She lifted her arm to reveal her Fate amulet. Gently, Roska reached for the chain the amulet hung on and tugged it. She felt the answering tug on the back of her neck.

Roska sat up and cupped the amulet in her palms. She remembered the sharp feel of it breaking beneath her hand and the light going out. She had chosen to destroy this amulet as a final sacrifice so that the casting might work. Yet, the amulet rested whole around her neck. Both things were undeniably true, but Roska could not reconcile the two.

Did her consciousness somehow separate from her body, and her spirit saw the Fate amulet because she remembered wearing it? That seemed unlikely. Roska cautiously reached for the energy to light the threaded piece of beaconstone she wore. She felt resistance like trying to use a muscle after it had been under immense strain. She concentrated, pushing through the pain.

The beaconstone lit faintly. Roska held up the proof to her eyes. She was not a spirit. She was alive. And there were only three beings she could conceive of who would have the power to save her and restore the amulet. But the Norns should not have interfered with her Choosing. They were born of Fate. Incorruptible, unlike their Children. There must be a reason she was here. Something beyond her understanding. Whatever the reason, Roska needed to know it. She had to understand why they would bring her back.

Roska got to her feet, stumbling on numb legs with the surface of Urd rippling beneath her. She had remained in the Norns' home. She would try to call on them.

"Norns?" she rasped.

The darkness gave her no reply. Roska turned in a slow circle as she searched for their bright forms. Though the amulets barely illuminated the space around her, Roska noticed that Odin's body had vanished. She took a step, lifting the amulets up to widen the range of the light. Everything from the king's solar was gone. Possibly she had been moved. Or wait, there. A wooden splinter from a chair or table. So maybe she remained in the same place but everything else had been swept from Urd, or swallowed by it.

Roska puzzled over the smooth surface until motion swirled in her periphery. She looked up as a rift opened. A Light Elf stepped through. Their pale skin glistened in the faint light matched by the amulet they wore around their wrist. They made a lurching motion like they might be sick, but swallowed it back. The tattoos inked onto their skin lit a brilliant blue that cut much further into the darkness than Roska's beaconstone and Fate amulet.

"Draugr," the Losja greeted. "Do you know what happened here? I followed the taint of chaos magic to this place. It should never have gotten so close to Urd."

Chaos clouded the Children's ability to use the Sight or scry, so they would not know of the events that had transpired even if the casting had been successful. Roska bit her bottom lip. She would have to confess before all of them. She expected anger, whether the casting worked or not, but especially if the casting had not been completed.

"I -"

Another rift opened and the Frer came striding out. Not the one Roska had met in her first days as Draugr, but a boy who clutched two ice-spheres in each hand. He too bore a sickened expression. The residual effects of the chaos magic, which Roska realized she should be feeling as well. She added her resilience to her questions for the Norns.

"Have we located the invader?" the Frer asked.

"No," Roska said. "There is-" A third rift opened, and the Murc rampaged into Urd, brandishing his flaming war hammers. "I can explain once the others have arrived." No point in repeating herself.

They did not need to wait long. The Haga flew through a rift with a mistrustful glance as though it knew that Roska was somehow at fault. Simultaneously, the Eya tumbled in wearing a robe of motley with a crazed gleam in her eye. The Charith shuffled through bearing a longbow threaded with hair - he was a dwarf, not a Dark Elf like the first to bear his title, as the Dark Elves had been sleeping for centuries. The Eir appeared, staff first as if it were a third leg used to probe before him. Finally, the Tizak joined them from a cloud of billowing smoke. Her scaled skin and scant garments were splattered with blood and gore. The blood on her hands gleamed fresh.

All nine Children of Norn gathered in the same place. This had not happened since the early days when the Nine Realms were newly born and the wars against Chaos raged fierce. The gravity of her actions weighed on Roska as she looked them over. Here they were called together for a new war. One she had started.

"Well?" the Losja prodded. "We are all here."

Roska fidgeted under their attention. The group may be small, but they seemed a crowd with their piercing stares. Roska reminded herself that Fate had selected her for the Choosing. There were signs. She had done what she thought was right.

"Thanos is gathering Infinity Stones to him, and I believe he has turned his gaze on the Nine Realms," Roska began. "The attack on Midgard, it had to be more than a whim."

The Charith made a series of gestures that All-Speak could not translate, but the Eir nodded. "The Other was behind the Chitauri invasion. We know this."

Roska noticed he made no mention of Loki, but was it because of the casting altering his memories or because Loki was not as much of a threat as the Other? "As it was my Choosing, there was no way to know when an attack on the other realms might come or how soon. And if Thanos uses the stones, all manner of chaos beings will be drawn to the Nine Realms."

"Thanos... did... this," the Murc grunted in barely discernable speech.

The Tizak raised a hand of long talons as if Thanos stood before her and she was ready to tear into him. "Then, he has more of the stones than we guessed."

 _No._ The Haga's wings buzzed faster in impatience. _There is more to this_.

Roska nodded. "You know that Asgard has always been the center of the Nine Realms. Each realm is vital to keeping balance, but-"

"This preamble is unnecessary," the Losja snapped.

Roska winced. She would explain herself afterwards. "I invoked the chaos magic." Instead of the expected shouts of outrage, the Children remained silent. Roska looked into their faces and saw disbelief and confusion, except for the Eya who kept her mad grin. "It was a memory casting. I wanted Loki on the throne and could see no other way."

More silence until the Eya started giggling. Her right eye rolled in an unsettling manner.

"But why here?" the Eir asked. "Why would you bring chaos magic to Urd?"

 _She needed to use it as a channel to spread the magic across the realms._ The Haga blinked. _Do you have any idea what you have done?_

Roska held out her hands imploringly. "I know it was a risk. Please, just listen."

_I have been here since the First Wars. I have seen what they are like, and you started another._

"Allow me to explain."

The Haga's anger burned in Roska's head like honey heated over a fire, oozing into the cracks in her Charith gestured violently in his unspoken language.

The Losja seethed, eyes blazing, "You may have tainted Fate itself."

"But Urd is strong. I thought -"

Roska did not have enough chance to move aside before one of the Murc's war hammers slammed into her. Her shield did not form, the amulet depleted of its energy. Roska cried out as a bone in her shoulder cracked. Pain blazed as she tumbled across the surface of Urd. The Murc's roar echoed. It mingled with a shriek from the Tizak and the Eya's continuous laughter.

"The... Draugr... has... betrayed... us!" the Murc bellowed. "She... is... no... Child!"

 _Will you three be silent?! I want to know how it was even possible she had enough power to do this._ The Haga flew into her face as Roska sat up. _Did you have help?_

"She must have," the Losja mused. "For the residual effects to linger in Alfheim."

Alfheim was the second farthest realm from Asgard. Roska wanted to ask how strongly the casting had been felt, but just whimpered as her shoulder creaked. A bone had definitely broken.

The Tizak hissed, "We could flay the truth from her."

After the Charith made several motions, the Eir interpreted, "The Charith is right. We should use the runes if it comes to it."

"There is no need," the Frer said distantly. "The Norns are about to-"

" _We bolstered the magic."_

The Children turned towards the Norns as one, the ringing voice in their heads beckoning them. The three figures drove away the darkness with their radiance, their forms swirling magnificently. Roska got to her feet. She held below her shoulder so that her arm would move as little as possible. If the Norns completed the casting, the magic would have been successful, but Roska did not understand. It sounded like they had intervened in her Choosing.

The other Children seemed as confused as Roska, but the Eya gave voice to their question. "Whyyyyy?" she sang, the word escaping on a prolonged note. "Whyyyyy? Whyyyyy? Whyyyyy?"

Wyrd's form grew outwards.

" _Long have we waited for this war against Chaos."_

" _And we are still waiting,"_ Verdandi stated.

" _But not for much longer,"_ added Skuld.

The war had been inevitable. Roska was unsure of whether or not she should feel better about her choice in king. She thought Loki would assure victory, but the Norns would know better. Of course, she may have made the war worse by drawing other beings of chaos to the Nine Realms. Yet, the Norns making the casting powerful with their energy would send out a signal even farther. She was still confused. And nothing about the war explained why the Norns had saved her.

Despite her many questions, Roska was reluctant to speak in the Norns' presence now that they had arrived. The Norns were the keepers of Fate. Who was she to ask they explain themselves?

Only the Haga dared question the decision. _Why would you wish to make the Nine Realms a ready target? The Draugr was in a Choosing, so Fate was not set. You would have no way of knowing whether this was a war we could win._

" _It is impossible to know. Chaos clouds Fate."_

 _But why make the fight harder?_ The Haga's anger was not so harsh as when it had been directed at Roska, but the Children could feel it. _We do not want more beings of chaos here._

" _Not in the end."_

" _But now we do."_

The Losja bowed her head, "Forgive us, Norns, that we cannot understand, but why is it that you wish to draw Chaos here? I ask so that we know what we are to do when such beings arrive."

With a mighty snort, the Murc said, "We... kill... them."

Skuld, whose body was currently in the shape of a quadrupedal creature, shivered in delight.

" _One final battle and the realms will be cleansed forever."_

"Hmmm," the Tizak hummed. "A war does sound agreeable. So many bodies fallen as Fate wills."

Roska shot her a glare as she imagined the streets of Asgard ablaze, the people screaming. She would not let it come to that, Fate willing.

The Haga flitted back and forth. _But it was the Draugr's_ choice _to perform the casting._

Roska was still sure there was a piece of information missing, something the Norns must know that they did not.

"A casting of this magnitude would have been draining," the Eir reasoned. "If the Draugr died, her Choosing would have been over. So the Norns completed her work and brought her spirit back to her body as Fate showed them."

The Haga buzzed up to him. _Your willful ignorance does you no credit, Eir. A casting is bound to its caster unless they give it over to another. The Draugr would have had to be alive. Unless she gave the casting to the Norns, and they decided to accept it._

The Children looked to Roska, but she just shook her head. She had not considered trying to give the casting to the Norns. A Choosing was meant to be shouldered alone.

"If you mean to accuse the Norns," the Tizak growled. "Then do it, Haga."

 _I will._ The Haga turned to face the Norns. Its singular eye reflected their white glow. _You changed the outcome of the Draugr's Choosing in order to start your war._

The Eir shook his head. The Frer folded his arm, cradling his ice-spheres in a cupped palm. The Murc raised his war hammer, ready to smash the Haga out of the air for such an accusation. Roska waited for a denial, hopefully followed by an explanation.

Wyrd answered for the Norns.

" _We did what was best for Fate."_

Roska could not believe she had heard correctly. She was so certain of her misunderstanding that she reached up to rub the inside of her ears. Flakes and globs of blood coated her fingers.

The Frer stammered, "But... but... but no one is allowed to intervene in a Choosing. Only Fate can decide who is suited for that choice."

" _We are Fate's keepers. We decide what is best."_

The Charith made signs, clearly distraught.

" _We knew what to do because we knew what her Choosing would be. We saw the signs from Fate, and we knew the time had come. So we acted. No more waiting."_

" _Although there is still some waiting."_

" _But not much more."_

Roska heard a ringing in her ears. Her skin felt separate from her body. She was here and not here.

The Norns had deliberately interfered. They had changed Fate. It was not permitted. No, it was absolutely forbidden. Was this the first time? She could not know. Then, what was Fate? Was it a construct made up by the Norns? Was she just blindly following their will? Her eyes grew wet with tears. She had thought she was making a choice, doing the right thing for Fate, but she was doing what the Norns wanted. They could have laid down the signs. Or else there were no signs at all.

She had brought war to the Nine Realms. _She_ was responsible for every death, every orphaned child, every weeping spouse, every burned city.

Roska pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She had given everything for a cause that was not what she believed it to be. She had done so many things in the name of Fate. Yet, it might not be this great, sprawling, ordered tapestry that protected the Nine Realms. Fate might not exist.

A thick squelch made Roska peek through her fingers. The Haga had thrust its limbs into its abdomen. It tore through its flesh and from inside it pulled out the amulet with the mark of Fate. As the amulet dropped, so did the Haga. The rune faded as the Haga died, and the shock of seeing the Haga so violently reject her title was nearly greater than the revelation of the Norn's purpose. The Frer bent over to be sick.

" _Go as you will."_

The Charith spun on his heel and disappeared through a rift. The Murc clomped off through his own. The remaining Children blinked at each other, looking as if they had hiked through a forest for centuries to finally wander out into an unknown land, disoriented.

Roska found her voice. "Why did you bring me back?" At least let that be Fate's will. Let Fate be real.

" _We spared you-_

"- _because Loki will act more favorably with you alive."_

Another choice made by the Norns. Her sacrifice meant nothing. Roska could not bear to stand before the Norns any longer, nor the other Children. She tore open a rift with what strength she could muster and fled.

Roska roamed about. She lost a sense of time, uncaring how long passed. Her purpose was gone. She walked the streets of Asgard, barely seeing and yet taking it all in. There was no great tapestry of lives intersecting as Fate willed, only people going about their days unless the Norns deemed them important enough to be wielded as weapons, or pawns. A lie. She had lived a lie. A few smaller chaos beings approached, and Roska fended them off out of habit. She slept and cried and raged and slept some more. What a fool she had been.

One night, Roska visited the king's balcony, wishing to see Loki. Thoughts were pressing against the inside of her mind, and if she did not let them out, she would burst. The king's chambers appeared more or less untouched with the exception of the empty solar. She paced through the rooms. Eventually, Roska remembered that Loki would have no idea who she was, and she did not know what to say to him so that he would listen. So she left.

Roska stood at the entrance to her home. It led off the edge of Asgard. She could take a step and fall through space until she died. It would be no less than she deserved for following so blindly. She plucked at the chain of her Fate amulet. Or rip this off and wander child-like through the halls. The next Draugr should see what became of her. They should know.

It occurred to her then that the next Draugr might not know what the Norns did. The Norns could trick them, too. And they would be thrown into a war they did nothing to start.

Roska grabbed the outside of the entrance and hauled herself up. She jumped up to a ledge, using the air to push her higher. Her shoulder had healed for the most part, but twinged when Roska used the adjoining muscles. She did not care. She moved up the mountainside to a place where she could look out over Asgard.

War was coming to this realm, and none of the people knew it from the king to the lowliest citizen. This war could ravage Asgard. This war, the Norns' war, but also hers. And if she started this fight, she should help end it. Roska glanced to the palace. Yes. She had placed the strongest king on the throne. She had called forth the enemy. She should take responsibility.

Roska gripped her Fate amulet. The Norns had given her the gifts of the Draugr, so she would keep those abilities, use them. Not for the Norns, but for her home, the other eight realms, and their people. She owed the realms that, even if they were unaware of her.

But she could not fight on her own.

Even though she could not remember reading anything that would be helpful, Roska skimmed through old texts in search of how her predecessors convinced Odin of their station as the Draugr. Unfortunately, she did not discover an overlooked detail or missing page, but rather a lingering sadness over the passages declaring a steadfast devotion to Fate and a ruefulness over those that waivered in faith, the ones she had once read with scorn.

Roska placed the texts back on their shelves. She had found solidarity with these voices once. No longer. Now she bore the title strictly for the gifts granted to her.

Which Loki displayed a deep interest in. Roska chided herself for being so foolish. She was still thinking of how the Draugr traditionally filled their role. Loki had never believed she was the Draugr. Likely, he never would. But he _had_ been drawn to her abilities. Thus, she needed to show him what she could do and present herself as an ally.

Roska cast the runes, asking what being of chaos would attack next. Two radhoggs heading for the Outskirts. She could make a show of letting them rampage, possibly chasing them towards the palace before killing them. However, Loki might see through the setup, or - at a greater detriment to her - decide that she had brought the radhoggs to Asgard. She needed another way. Appearing unnoticed in his chambers was impressive in its way. Of course, there was nothing to stop him from assuming she was an assassin and attacking. Roska bit her lip. She did not want to hurt him accidently. No, if she sought an audience with the king and at least some level of trust to begin with, she needed to go about this in the manner that no Draugr before her would have considered.

She was going to formally request an audience.

Roska sat down with a pen and parchment.

_Loki,_

Too informal. She grabbed a fresh piece of parchment.

_My king,_

The salutation felt even more personal. Roska shuttered herself against the memory of Loki purring into her ear, his arms around her. She pulled over the first draft and added "King."

Roska thought a while on how to continue. She had never written a letter, much less one of such importance. Furthermore, there was so much she could not tell him about what had happened. Slowly, over several drafts and one meal, the letter came together. She read it over a final time. The letter sounded satisfactory, though Roska could hardly believe she had spent so much time laboring on such a short missive.

_King Loki,_

_I have reason to believe that war is coming to the Nine Realms. I have protected Asgard against smaller threats that have already arisen, but will not be able to hold back the tide alone. I wish to meet with you to offer my services and explain further. You need merely activate the crystal to summon me._

_Please accept the enclosed token as but a glimpse of what I can offer._

_With regards,_

_Roska_

In the envelope with the letter, Roska included a communication crystal (she already had its twin attached around her neck) and an amulet in which she had encased enough dark matter to enact several powerful castings.

Letters sent to Hlidskialf were first scanned for hidden magic or other threats and then sorted based on the sender and occasionally the contents to determine if it was necessary for the king to view them. Since her letter could be set aside during this process, Roska bypassed it. She went to the king's chambers. To her surprise, it appeared that Loki had not moved into them. She had not been paying close attention when she last visited. Perhaps there were too many memories of his father contained in these walls.

Roska went up to Loki's chambers instead. Yes, he had stayed here. She meandered about the rooms, stroking her hand along his books in the way he did, sitting on the railing of the balcony. The familiarity she enjoyed at first faded as Roska looked closer. Small things had changed. There was a locked case on his desk that she opened to reveal assorted letters. Where once a small table had rested in the solar now stood a longer one with room for six rather than two. The few personal items that had sat on the mantel in the solar had been moved to the bedchambers. As his rooms were not the same, neither would Loki be entirely. He should still have retained most of his personality, but small parts of him would be altered. Such as lacking memories of her.

Roska waited until a servant arrived with two other letters. She set hers in between - lest the servant come back and notice that the top letter appeared different. She considered staying, but Loki might decide not to open her letter immediately. Neither did she wish to see him read the letter. Watch his eyebrows crease. Observe him peering at the crystal and amulet, wondering if he could trust her, weighing her potential worth. And possibly setting her aside.

Back home, Roska went to work on a small tapestry of the Filrar. She had not yet come to a decision on where to hang it. Somewhere that needed to appear menacing presumably. Not that she had a need to reach a decision soon, for she could barely concentrate.

Time moved at a slow crawl. Roska had to undo the wefts twice when she realized she had not changed the thread colors in the correct place. Usually she could lose herself in weaving for days and never make a single mistake. Today she kept glancing down at the crystal around her neck, her hands often stilling with the threads held forgetfully between her fingers as she pondered what precisely she was going to tell Loki.

When warmth radiated off the crystal, Roska still sat in her weaving chair, but had given up all pretenses and was idly rubbing a completed corner of the tapestry as she stared at the wall. She jerked to attention. The crystal cooled when she touched it, and Roska thought of the final time she had been summoned by Odin. A matter of months, but the encounter seemed so long ago. Her innards seemed to be condensing into a ball. She could hardly breathe. Roska set down the tapestry. Best not to keep Loki waiting. He was patient, but not endlessly.

Roska opened a rift, following the link between the crystals. She appeared right beside Loki. He sat at his desk with her letter unfolded in front of him. At a glance, she was unable to tell how long he had been sitting there. She crept around the desk. His shoulders were tense. His head moved slightly, observing the room. His expression... betrayed nothing. Whatever he thought or felt upon reading her letter had been carefully concealed.

Gingerly, Roska prodded the chambers for wards or concealed guards. She did not find any wards that her appearing before Loki would trip. She could sense four guards, but they stood out in the hall. She clenched and unclenched her hands. And made herself visible.

Loki blinked at her appearance. Roska searched for signs of recognition. She wanted so much for him to lounge back against his chair and demand to know everything that had happened or else grin and make a comment about hoping she did not drain all her energy, for he could use her in this or that matter. She understood why the Norns considered caring a danger. It made a person utterly irrational.

Roska lowered her eyes and inclined her head. "I..." She had pondered what to tell Loki of the impending war and how she might gain his acceptance, but had not considered a greeting. In her rare interactions with people, Roska dispensed with greetings altogether to delve into the point of the meeting. But as Loki considered this their first meeting, he would anticipate some display of formality. Roska grasped for pleasantries she had overheard in court.

"King Loki, my thanks for your timely response and inviting me into your home. I am the one who wrote to you. As stated in my letter, a war is coming. I am hoping for an alliance between us to prevent the destruction of the Nine Realms as we know them. And to prevent your being unseated as Asgard's king." Roska rubbed the back of her wrist. She was moving too quickly. He did not know her. She needed to learn from when they had initially met. "But I expect you have questions."

Loki leaned forward. Roska followed each movement of his body, the slow way he lowered the communication crystal to his desk, how one thin finger tapped the polished wood. He was thinking, as was she. She did not have a talent for lies, so most of her tale would be omissions of truth. She had formed a casting that was meant to secure Asgard's future, but instead could prove to be its undoing. She could tell him of the attacks that had already begun and predict the next. She could offer ancient protective magicks.

"I have a great many questions," Loki agreed. "The first being, did you rehearse that speech?"

Roska looked up. "What?"

"Did you rehearse it?" Loki reiterated, eyebrows rising in emphasis. "Because the introduction sounded forced, but the rest was better. Your playing on my desire to retain the throne was too obvious, but even so, it might have been effective enough to gain at least a prolonged audience. Especially if you are offering gifts."

Roska stared at Loki as he turned the amulet with dark matter so that it spun between his fingers. Might have gained a prolonged audience. He was sending her away.

"I did not mean to offend," said Roska. "I know I can be blunt at times."

"That is an understatement if I have ever heard one."

Annoyance nudged Roska forward, mingled with sleeplessness and the tumult of her life being turned upside-down. She had not come to Loki to be laughed at. She thought he had more sense than this. Annoyance turned quickly to anger.

Roska banged her hands down on his desk, looming over it as much as her petite stature would allow. "There is a war on the horizon!" she shouted. The chamber doors burst open. The metal of the guards' armor clanked as they rushed into the solar, but Loki held up a hand to stop them from converging on Roska. "I did not take you for the kind of king who would so flippantly scoff at such a threat. I gave everything for this. Everything. And all of it for a lie. I - I cannot..."

The Norns had not been who Roska thought they were. Her purpose, her life was twisted in a large web she had not understood. Loki had been the one piece of the mess remained intact. Roska believed he would live up to her expectations of him, and though a larger war could come, she thought she could count on his leadership. But she had not even chosen her king correctly if he was to treat her with such mockery.

Roska wanted to leave. Her throat felt dry as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She was done. Another day she might try again, when Loki saw the truth of her warning, but she could do no more today. It hurt her that she did not know him anymore, just as much as his not remembering her.

Loki leaned to one side to address the guards. "You may return to your posts. And you are not to enter unless I expressly call for you." He settled back into his chair. "The Draugr may have a temper, but she will not actually harm me."

The ground beneath Roska's feet seemed to disappear. She was falling, the dip in her stomach unexpected but not entirely unpleasant. Loki knew who she was.

"I apologize," said Loki as the guards shut the doors. "It has been a most trying morning, and I so rarely have the chance for a bit of fun anymore." The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. "I do ask that if you are going to toss me about, you aim away from the balcony."

Roska gaped at him. "How - How is it - Did the Norns-?"

"I left the Nine Realms," Loki explained. "I could not very well lose such valuable memories, not when others outside the realms might remember. There has been a lot of smoothing things over. Also, it has been incredibly satisfying to know the truth and see them all kneel."

Loki had managed to escape her casting for reasons of practicality and gloating. How very _him._ Roska smiled. She had not misjudged Loki. And he remembered her. A giggle rose in her throat. The situation should not have been humorous. Yet, it was. She pressed a hand against her mouth.

"Are you feeling well?" Loki asked.

"Y-yes," Roska affirmed, choking back a spasm of laughter. "Everything has been..." She lifted her hand from her mouth. "I am merely relieved."

"Ah. All the same, perhaps you should sit." Loki gestured towards a chair while getting up himself to pour her a goblet of mead. "And we can discuss what has happened."

When Loki learned that she had been able-bodied since the day of the casting, he appeared angry that she had not contacted him in the past few months. More so than Roska would have expected. But the anger settled as she expanded upon the meeting of the Children and the Norns. She told him of how the Norns had moved Fate in their own way and how they had been pushing for the war - which he did not see as much of a revelation, but he had never believed they were the true Norns. She told him how she wandered afterwards disillusioned, uncertain of what to do with her life until she came to a decision to keep her abilities and use them.

"Very practical of you," Loki noted with an approving nod. Roska let out a breath. She did not need his acceptance, but hoped for it nonetheless. Loki rested his chin on one hand. "Even if it was just the title, 'the Draugr' carries weight."

"Yes," Roska agreed. Yet, hearing it from his lips made the title sound hollow. She was not really the Draugr anymore. That name belonged to the Norns. "However, I would prefer if you call me Roska."

Loki lifted an eyebrow, but grinned. "Very well. And you referred to me as 'King Loki,' I believe. That will do. Or my lord. My liege."

Roska rolled her eyes at his teasing after what felt to her a momentous admission. "As long as I hold the post of Draugr, I am not one of your subjects... But... you are my king."

Perhaps it was due to a minute turning of his head or a trick of the light, but Loki's grin seemed to soften around its edges. He raised his goblet and drained the contents. When he set the goblet back down, the softness was gone.

"So you have been meandering about this whole time?" Loki queried. "Or have there been signs of this war?"

Speaking on the chaos beings that had attacked thus far led to a discussion of strategy which led to Loki expanding upon his observations about the Nine Realms as they stood at present. Their discussions were interrupted at intervals by messengers and once a member of the Caster's Table. Roska offered to leave at the first knock - as she would be available at any later time - but Loki bade her stay. He kept the conversations with visitors brief and delegated if needed before resuming their discussions.

Roska was glad to spend the evening. Although it had not been so long since she and Loki had parted, she missed their talks. They made her feel less alone, and the specter of war was less of a burden knowing that Loki would be alongside her. That was not to say that they did not argue - she attempted to hold on to her newfound ability to voice her opinions without considering their effect on Fate - but as long as Loki was open to listening, she was satisfied. Which he was open to, at least in appearance. Because she was still useful to him.

They talked until well past nightfall. Loki had called for food earlier, at which point they moved from the desk to the table where they remained. Drinking a fair amount of mead and ale, Roska gradually sank back against her chair, warm and content. Loki also consumed his share of drink. Very unusual for him. The faint pink flush on his cheeks was oddly endearing.

"Enough!" Loki declared at long last. "The rest can wait."

Roska nodded and stood. The air between her enchanted boots and the ground wobbled before steadying. "I shall contact you if anything goes amiss. Otherwise, you know how to reach me."

She pulled on enough energy to open a rift, but Loki caught her wrist. "Stay." He traced his thumb along her hand, a smile lessening but not quite erasing the sharpness of the command. "I would be a poor host to invite you here and not offer a bed for the night."

Roska frowned, unsure of why Loki would insist on her continued presence when she could open a rift to take her home. Performing magic while intoxicated could be dangerous. Maybe he worried that she would render herself useless by channeling the energy incorrectly or opening a rift off the end of Asgard.

"I may have accepted one too many drinks, but I am not drunk," Roska assured Loki. "I can open a small rift."

"That is not-" Loki let out a breath on the verge of a laugh. "That is not why I am offering."

"No?"

"No."

Roska squinted as she attempted to work out why else Loki would want her to stay. He could never be plain about anything.

Loki regarded her, tilting his head. "I do not understand how you manage to be so vexing and amusing at the same time. It is a talent."

Either Loki was insulting her or complimenting her, and Roska was unsure of which. Coming from him, the two sounded remarkably similar. Usually they were insults, but this seemed a strange juncture for one. Roska shrugged. It was late. She did not have the patience for this.

"I am leaving," Roska announced. "If you have need of me on the morrow, you can use the crystal."

Loki did not let go of her as he got up from his chair. "And if I have need of you now?"

Roska watched, perplexed, as Loki brought her hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. He turned it over, kissing the inside of her wrist. His mouth was hot against the delicate skin, and the flush in Roska's chest could no longer be blamed entirely on the mead.

Giving in would be easy. She could be greedy with her desire in exchange for staying the night. But the arrangement was not what Roska wanted to be between them. Had Loki not remembered her, she could have borne him thinking that he was using her if it would buy his acceptance of the coming war. But Loki bartering with sex because he knew she wanted him, it stung. He had learned the wrong lesson from the temple. Unless she allowed him to, Loki did not have any power over her. No one would ever again.

Roska pulled her hand away. "If you would like me to stay, give me the truth of why. I am not a fool to believe you want me."

Loki's brow wrinkled. He surveyed her from head to toe like he was searching for a hidden marker on a map. His gaze rose as he looked off with an intensity that made Roska glance over her shoulder just to be sure nothing in particular had caught his eye. She could not pick out anything.

Loki murmured, "What if I do?"

Roska whipped back around, the question draining the air from her lungs. It was a cruel trick, an attempt to bend her to his will. But as Loki met her eyes, she doubted her initial reaction. He appeared uncertain, a bit irked. His mouth had settled into a grim line. His expression was curiously vulnerable, as if a wrong word from her might break something fragile or harden it to steel.

"Then, I would say that maybe it is you who had one drink too many," Roska replied. She had seen how alcohol was prone to making people behave in strange ways.

"Perhaps," acknowledged Loki, the muscles in his face tensing.

She had misstepped. Was it possible that Loki spoke true? Roska instinctively recoiled against the notion. She was not supposed to - but that did not matter. When war came though, she might have to choose between saving Loki or the Nine Realms. What would she do then? Roska searched within herself and realized that she did not care. To have hope to build something between them was dangerous, to care for someone was dangerous. Caring was irrational and reckless. And yet if there was a chance to have her feelings returned, she would not turn it aside.

Roska added, "But I could stay until morning and find out."

For a moment, Loki did not move, and Roska feared her offer was too little, too late. But his lips quirked up.

"Then, allow me to escort you to bed."

Roska let out a squawk as Loki lifted her off her feet with the ease of carrying a babe. She huffed, but when Loki kissed her, she could not be angry. Even if his wicked grin said he had picked her up with the full knowledge doing so would annoy her. She just wrapped her arms around him and stole another kiss. This might be a dream that dissipated in the light of the morning. But at least she would have tonight.

A night well worth having. Roska's back had hardly hit the bed before Loki was impatiently tearing garments off her. His lips ravaged hers. His hands pulled her close against him, seemingly unwilling to let go. He took her hard and fast, and Roska clung to him, more aware of his need than anything else. Loki must have realized this, for he then pleasured her at a pace that could only be described as exquisitely torturous. While curiosity spurred Roska to push him back against the bed afterwards to explore, it was satisfying to hear Loki hiss several curses as she teased the skin above his cock with several slow licks. They lay tangled in the end. Roska smiled to herself as she looked upon Loki already slumbering. He used to wait until she slept out of mistrust. She kissed his jaw and closed her eyes.

Roska did not mind that she woke sore with a mild headache. She had moved off the too-soft pillows in her sleep to curl up in the middle of Loki's bed. Roska peeked an eye open, squinting at the already bright light streaming in through the windows. She was surprised Loki could afford to sleep so late.

Loki.

Roska lifted her head. A fire burned in the hearth. Her discarded garments had been gathered and sat neatly on a chair. Servants must have come in, but Loki was gone. Of course. She could not expect the king to lounge about all morning, and neither should she. She had a war to concern herself with.

Nevertheless, Roska rose from the bed with reluctance. She padded over to the small wash basin and dipped in a cloth. The water was surprisingly warm. Loki must not have woken too long ago himself. Roska touched the cloth to her thigh and hummed in pleasure as the heat sunk in. By the Norns, that felt good.

Roska dragged the cloth over her skin until she realized that she could hear hushed voices coming from the solar.

"...getting this information from?" Thor asked.

"A reliable source," Loki retorted.

"Brother, you know I trust your judgement, but some of the others are asking questions."

Roska cleaned up quickly and reached for her garments.

"You think I do not know?" Loki growled impatiently. He sighed. "They will have their answers soon enough. If I can convince her."

"Her?"

"Never mind. Prince Thulja has requested to see the tourney grounds. Will you give him a tour? Be sure to explain the fights in detail. Battle is all that seems to interest him. Hopefully he will persuade his mother to listen."

Thor grunted. "Queen Muljeh is a frightened hen."

"Well, I suggest you don't say that to Thulja. I will arrange to have you meet with him midday."

Roska pinned up her braids as Thor and Loki said their goodbyes. It sounded like their relationship had remained close to how they acted around each other growing up. Loki would be glad of it. He might have been envious of Thor, hated him, but they were brothers. Now that Loki held the power, perhaps some of the damage between them could be undone.

Once Thor left, Roska pushed the door open. Loki stood near the balcony, but Roska's gaze caught on the servant waiting attentively to be needed. Roska's face flushed. The servant would know she had been in Loki's bed. She rubbed her hand. Not forbidden. She made herself visible to both of them so the servant would not be alarmed by the door moving by an unseen force.

"Ah, good. You're awake," Loki said. "Did you notice the wash basin? I have had the servants keeping the water hot, but if you see otherwise, they will refresh it."

"No need," Roska assured him.

Loki nodded. He raised the steaming mug in his hand towards the servant. "Bring another." The servant curtsied with a fist to her chest and hurried off. Loki sipped from his mug. "This helps when you have overindulged."

A thoughtful gesture. Unless Loki needed her head clear for further discussion. He had drunk too much. Said something he had not meant. Or that he would not have dared say otherwise.

"I suppose we did dive into our cups a little too deeply," Roska remarked.

"That we did."

Roska chided herself for being hesitant. If she wanted to know the truth of last night, she should ask. She likely knew his answer.

"There is a tourney in two days' time," said Loki while Roska dithered. "Part of the festivities for Sigurdsblot. It will be a chance to scout rising warriors, which we could use."

"Oh."

Roska had not noticed the preparations for the holiday, which commemorated victory in battle and those who sacrificed their lives to achieve it. Had she still been blindly faithful to Fate, Roska would have seen the timing as a sign. Instead, she thought of how lost she had been to not notice the flurry of activity holidays inspired.

Thinking back on the snippet of conversation she had overheard, Roska surmised, "And you are hoping to impress the royal family of Vanaheim?"

Loki inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Queen Muljeh is not eager to consider the prospect of war."

"She does not have to be eager. War is coming, whether she wishes it to or not."

"Indeed." Loki took a swallow from his mug. "I would like you to accompany me to the tourney."

"For what purpose?" Roska asked. She could evaluate the warriors, but she was more inclined towards combat magic than physical weapons. Surely the generals in Loki's army and Thor were better equipped to judge. Then, did he anticipate an attack? She was the most experienced fighting beings of chaos. Unless this was a chance for her to listen in on the discussions of war.

"To make introductions."

Roska recoiled. Suddenly, Loki's passing remark to Thor made sense. "You want the Queen to know that the Draugr is your ally."

"I want everyone to know."

"I am not so sure that is a good idea," Roska warned. "Thanos and the others may not be aware that the Children exist." Surprise was an advantage.

"I considered that-"

"For how long?" Not long enough since Loki had only discovered she was alive and well yesterday.

Loki ignored her interruption. "-but I believe your presence is more advantageous if known. The Children of Norn are legendary. It will draw allies to our cause, and make our enemies afraid." His eyes gleamed. "And I want them to be afraid."

"You expect them to believe me? You don't believe I am the Draugr. Why would everyone else?"

"I do believe you."

Roska spluttered, "Since when precisely?"

"That is unimportant," Loki dismissed with a shrug.

"It is not unimportant to me."

"Some will believe, others will not," Loki went on as if he could not hear her. Roska shook her head. She would return to the subject later, let no mistake be made. She did not forget that easily. "But with your power and my words, we will prove your worth."

Roska folded her arms. She did not like that she would have to carry on being the Draugr of myth, but this plan had potential. Perhaps for another Draugr it would have worked. But she pictured meeting important leaders and speaking before groups of people, and her heart quailed. She would say the wrong thing. She _knew_ she would. Court politics involved an indirect way of talking that she could not imitate and she would have to lie believably.

"You remember that I do not have the - the eloquence and etiquette that may be expected of me," Roska reminded him.

Loki swept out a hand and smiled. "You need only agree with whatever I say."

"Loki..."

"All right. We shall work up to it." Loki set his mug down. "Come to the tourney, and it will be just you and I in the king's box. You will be the talk of the tournament. Never underestimate the power of intrigue."

Roska shook her head and stared at her feet. She did not need to ask about last night anymore. Loki wanted the Draugr part of her. The Roska part meant nothing. She could be anyone else and he would act the same. She had allowed herself to hope, and she should not have. If she continued to care for Loki, she needed to do so without expectation. She needed to learn better control and bury emotion deep. As a Draugr should have. Roska sighed. She had been freed to discover herself back in the same cage.

Loki crossed the solar. He lifted her chin with a finger, and Roska looked up at him. "You do not have to come as the Draugr if you do not wish it. I still want you beside me."

Her breath caught. Roska searched for a hint of deception, but did not find it. She supposed this could be a trick. And yet.

"But what would I say?" Roska mumbled, for there would be questions.

"I _can_ clear out the king's box if you prefer. Otherwise, just tell them you are Roska of Asgard." Loki leaned close, his lips brushing hers. "Then, tell them you are mine."

Roska tipped her head back to accept his kiss. She pressed herself against Loki, kissing him again as he held her in a tight embrace. Loki would claim her before the court. Her. Because she was powerful, but also because he wanted her there. She had never cared for anyone other than Loki, and he had pushed any who tried before her aside. But Roska did not reach out with the Sight to look towards the future. She might, when it was useful. When she was the Draugr. But for the moment, she was Roska of Asgard, and her fate was her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end! Roska and Loki may still have a lot ahead of them, but this journey is over. Thanks to my beta anselm0 for her comments. Thank you so much for reading. May the Norns watch you. Or, screw it and take hold of your own fate.


	18. Glossary

 

Aesir – the race of beings on Asgard

Alfheim – realm of the Light Elves

Asgard – realm of the Aesir

Birthing - the ceremony during which a being becomes one of the Children of Norn

The Caster's Table - Asgard's royal assembly of mages

Charith - Child of Svartalfaheim

Children of Norn – guardians of Fate on the Nine Realms as appointed by the Norns

Choosing – the choice a Child of Norn must make to decide the course of Fate

The Dark Realm – not part of the Nine Realms, a place from which can be drawn dark matter and energies for chaos magic

Draugr – Child of Asgard

Eir – Child of Midgard

Elivagar – mountain range in Niflheim

Einherjar - the spirits who reside in Valhalla

Eya - Child of Vanaheim

Filrar - forest in Niflheim

Frer – Child of Jotunheim

Futhark – the rune alphabet

Gap – a permanent passage between realms

Gungnir - magical spear held by the king of Asgard

Haga – Child of Niflheim

Hel – realm of the non-honorable dead

Hlidskialf – palace in Asgard

Ice-sphere - ball of ice that explodes outwards into tiny, piercing shards and then reforms

Jotunheim – realm of the Frost Giants

Kutatuh - crystal pillar beneath Rijd's Valley, holy to the Preemond for its ability to hold the spirit of Whutah

Losja - Child of Alfheim

Magick - a type of magic that involves holding a symbol in one's head to act as a catalyst; largely out of practice due to amount of energy needed and volatility of castings

Midgard – realm of the Humans

Mimir – the well of knowledge, lies at the base of Yggdrasill’s root beneath Jotunheim

Mudspelheim – realm of the Fire Giants

Murc - Child of Mudspelheim

Naashrand – island where souls are tortured in Hel

Norns – three sisters who are keepers of Fate in the Nine Realms

Niflheim – the poisonous realm, mostly uninhabited

Preemond - a nomadic race of beings on Niflheim

Rift – a temporary portal used to travel within a realm

Sight – the ability to see into the future

Skuld – one of the Norns, keeper of the future

Svartalfaheim – realm of the Dark Elves & Dwarves

Tizak - Child of Hel

Urd – the well of Fate and domain of the Norns, lies at the base of Yggdrasill’s root beneath Asgard

Valhalla – tomb of the honorable dead on Asgard

Vanaheim – realm of the Vanir

Vanir – closely related race to the Aesir

Verdandi – one of the Norns, keeper of the present

Vergelmir – the churning, lake-sized well from which all rivers stem, lies at the base of Yggdrasill’s root beneath Niflheim

Whutah - deity worshiped by the Preemond, made of various colors which dictate how the Preemond live their lives

Wyrd – one of the Norns, keeper of the past

Yggdrasill – the world-tree, intangible force that unites the Nine Realms


End file.
